


Dear John (PG-13 version)

by Shideezhi



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Rating: PG13, Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:04:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shideezhi/pseuds/Shideezhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Unthinkable, Felicity decides it is time to put Starling City behind her and start a new life somewhere else, far away from danger and brooding vigilantes dressed in green leather. Oliver, however, isn't willing to let her go that easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dear John,

Ha! I'm writing a "Dear John" letter. That is both funny, and sad. Funny because...well, it just is, and sad because in a way, I guess I am breaking up with you. Not that we were together or anything. Oh, hell, You know what I mean. Or you would, if I actually finished my sentence. Oh my god. Even when I write, I babble. Anyway. By the time you read this, I'll be gone. As in permanently. As in, I've left Starling City, and I'm not coming back.

I am sorry I left like a thief in the night, without saying goodbye. I was so torn about leaving, and so afraid you guys would talk me out of it. Especially Oliver. I'm not sure I could have resisted him, and I needed to get out before our night job consumed me completely. This just seemed like the best way. And yes, also the coward's way, but I think I can live with that.

It must seem sudden to you, but believe me when I say the pressure had been building for a while. I never told you this - because I wanted to keep it to myself until it got serious, and then it ended before it could get serious - but a couple of months ago, I met someone. It was going well, we had a lot in common, and it seemed like he might be someone I could be with for the long haul.

Then Tockman happened. I couldn't hide that injury from him, and I couldn't tell him the truth about what happened either. I could have lied and said I fell and hurt my shoulder, but if things had progressed the way they seemed to be progressing, he would have seen the scar at some point anyway, and then what? In any case, at that moment I realized that given the life we lead, and as long as we do the work we do, I will never be able to have a serious relationship. And I want that someday, Digg. You and Oliver have people who know about what we do; you have Lyla, Oliver has his pick of the Lance sisters, and Roy...Roy is the perfect example of what happens if you try to keep secrets from the one you love. He lied to Thea, and he lost her. You can't build a serious relationship on secrets and lies.

Then there is Slade. I know he's incarcerated, but I have absolutely no faith that ARGUS wouldn't release him some day if it suited their purpose, and Slade is a resourceful man. I have no doubt that you will be seeing him again, one way or the other. And since he still thinks I'm the love of Oliver's life, that puts me at risk. And even without him, let's face it: with the risks we took, the odds of all of us reaching old age were slim. Still are, for you guys. I'm not sure I could stand losing either or you.

On top of all that, the Arrow Cave had gotten very crowded. I miss the days when it was just the three of us. I like Roy, and he will be an asset some day, but you know how I feel about...other things. Laurel in the lair is a complication I really didn't need in my life, and it looked like she was there to stay.

Taken individually, none of these situations would have been enough to make me leave, but the weight of all of it was starting to add up. In the end, the cons were starting to outweigh the pros.

Then came what I like to call Oliver's Betrayal - in my more melodramatic moments, that is. He used me, Digg. He used me as bait to trap Slade without so much as a by-your-leave. Why? Did he think I would have said no? When have I ever said anything but yes when it came to helping you guys, when it came to going out into the field? It's not like I haven't been undercover before.

I could see on his face the moment the idea to use me came into his head. He had plenty of time to fill me in, but he didn't. He just helped himself. And if that wasn't bad enough, what he said to me in the mansion - he knows how I feel about him, but he still said it. He made me believe for a few seconds. I'm pretty sure I've never felt that humiliated before in my life.

He broke my heart. I thought it hurt when my father left me. But this? This hurt a thousand times worse, and it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. It tipped the scales for me, the writing was on the wall, and I realized it was time to go. For my own safety, emotional and otherwise, Felicity Smoak needs to cease to exist.

It's best all around if you don't know where - or who - I am now. I'm fine, and I'll continue to be fine. I have covered my tracks as only I can. Nobody will ever find me.

I have left you both a little gift, courtesy of Isabel Rochev (see the attachment for details). She had a couple of accounts in the Caymans that nobody seems to have known about. Since the witch is dead (ding dong), nobody is going to miss them, or the money they contained. And don't worry, I gave myself a little something out of them too. With a little smart investing, I'll be set for life.

So, there you have it. I'm going to miss you, John. More than I can possibly express. You were the big brother I always wanted. I'm going to miss both of you, and I'm sorry if I hurt you. Take care of yourself, and please...take care of him.

Lots of love,  
Felicity


	2. Chapter 2

The woman who used to be Felicity Smoak uncorked her best bottle of Greek red, selected a long stemmed wine glass from behind the bar, and left the taverna for the very short walk to the beach to sit in the sand and watch the sun setting over the Aegean. She did this on most days, after a long day of food shopping, fixing computers and helping out behind the bar or with the lunch rush - which never was much of a rush on her quiet little corner of the island.

The taverna was very much off the beaten track, which was one of the reasons she'd decided to buy it with her ill-gotten gains, formerly Isabel Rochev's ill-gotten gains. That and she fell in love with the apartment above it, with its bright whitewashed walls, many balconies, window boxes of fire-engine red geraniums, and views of both the ocean and the olive grove spilling down the hill behind the house.

The rocky path sloped gently down to the beach, and she paused for a moment to turn and look back at the place she now called home - and work - for the past nine months.

She had drifted for the first few weeks she'd been on the island, exploring every corner of it, getting to know the people, and spending a lot of time just sitting in the shade of gnarled old trees on sunbaked hillsides thrumming with insect life, or floating on her back in the cool water of hidden coves, licking her wounds and coming to terms with being suddenly homeless and friendless.

Then she had found this little slice of heaven. It was for sale, and it suited her needs perfectly.

Smiling fondly at the memory, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear and continued down to the beach.

>>>\-->

It was one year ago exactly that she had left everything she cared about behind in Starling City to start a new life in Greece. Hence the 2005 Papaioannou she was currently holding; she'd saved it for a special occasion, and decided today was that day. She was feeling a little down – almost certainly because of the date and the memories it brought back - and a good red wine was the perfect cure for a case of the blues.

Felicity, now going by the name of Allie - short for Allison - Apsa, toed off her flip-flops and sank down into the warm sand, pouring herself a glass and pushing the bottle into the sand next to her with a corkscrew motion so it would stay upright. Taking a healthy sip, she rolled the ruby liquid around in her mouth, savoring the fruity flavor before swallowing and settling in to stare at the horizon and take stock of the past year.

Leaving Starling City, leaving Team Arrow, leaving Oliver, had been the hardest things she'd ever had to do. For weeks she worked with the others on setting up the new lair, pretending nothing was wrong while secretly creating a new identity, closing old bank accounts and opening new ones, re-routing money a few times, and moving the contents of her house - the stuff she wanted to keep, anyway - into long-term storage.

It turned out to be a little easier than she expected in the end. They were all so busy dealing with the aftermath of Slade and his army, and everyone had something on their mind. Laurel was preoccupied with her father’s recovery, Roy was pining for Thea, and Oliver was mourning his mother and feeling guilty about everything, as usual. Even Diggle was distracted, and seemed to be very happy about something. It was relatively easy for her issues to pass unnoticed.

So she had planned and prepared for her departure unhindered, and when the time had come, she had wished everyone goodnight and prepared to leave the lair for the last time, barely keeping the tears at bay. Oliver had briefly glanced up from his work, giving her a soft smile and a "goodnight, Felicity," before putting his arrow back to the grindstone. She stared at him for what seemed like forever, memorizing the contours of his face, and then turned and walked away from it all, tears spilling over her cheeks.

Felicity left her house two hours later a heavily made-up redhead with a suitcase, purse and a carry-on. She took a train out of the city, a flight out of the country, two more flights across a few more countries, and a boat to her final destination.

Stepping onto dry land on that crisp shiny morning felt surprisingly like coming home. The words “crystal clear” seemed to be tailor made for the air in this part of the world, the houses clinging to the hillsides so absurdly white, the doors and shutters so blindingly blue, it brought something inside her back to life.

She had painted the taverna those exact colors for exactly that reason.

Warmed on the inside by the wine, she placed her now empty goblet carefully on the sand and lay back with a deep sigh, closing her eyes and letting the gurgling, hissing ebb and flow of the sea soothe her almost to sleep. The barman's low rumble and a bark of laughter from one of the Taverna's patrons drifted toward her on the warm air, filling her with the comfort of home.

She was happy, without a doubt. Quietly happy, but happy none the less. But it was a happiness tinged with a faint but ever-present longing for the life she had left behind - and she was slowly coming to terms with the fact that this longing would never leave her. She missed Digg and Oliver deeply.

Family, for her, had always been made up of friends you make along the road of life, and she had found a new family here, inherited when she had bought the taverna, lock, stock and barrel, from the cook's son. The business might have changed hands, but little else about it did. Maria, the taverna’s cook who had become her substitute mother, had stayed on along with barman Dimitri and fancifully-named occasional waitress Chrysoula.

Maria had embraced her like one of her own, and Maria's very large extended family had followed suit shortly thereafter, drawing her in regardless of what she wanted. What Felicity had wanted at the time was to be left alone, but she hadn't been given much of choice. She'd been included in every christening, wedding or just-because party that her new family had hosted or had even been peripherally involved in, as if she had always belonged to them, and soon her solitary heart had opened to them, letting them in.

Now, she could not imagine life without the endearing rabble of noisy Greeks of all ages that had overrun her life.

She sensed more than heard someone approaching and sat up again, shaking off her sleepy torpor, but took no notice at first. The taverna's customers did occasionally come and go by way of the beach. But after a while they spoke, and she stiffened, her heart stuttering to a halt at the sound of a voice she never thought she'd hear again.

"Felicity?"

>>>\-->

He'd recognized her immediately, even from afar, even with the changes she'd made to disguise herself.

Gone were the glasses and brightly painted lips. Her sun-kissed face was fresh and clear of make-up, her straight blond hair now a riot of dark Titian curls twisted into a bun held in place by a pencil and...was that a Philips screwdriver? His lips curled up in a faint smile. She wore faded threadbare jeans and a thin, light sweater that hung off one tanned shoulder, very different attire from the sleek, form-fitting colorful outfits she used to favor.

He stopped about 15 feet away and simply watched her, drinking in the sight of her, so different from the girl he'd last seen leaving the new lair. But her physical appearance wasn't the only thing different about her. There was a certain stillness, a seriousness about the former bubbly girl that he had never seen before. She seemed subdued, yet very much at peace.

"Felicity?" His voice was slightly rough with disuse.

He watched her stiffen in surprise, her eyelids fluttering closed briefly. "Apparently, I am not as good at making myself disappear as I thought." She spoke quietly, not bothering to look at him. "How did you find me?"

He approached, dropping his backpack and sitting down a respectable distance from her, facing the setting sun. "ARGUS. And it wasn't easy. It took them almost a year. You did a great job disappearing."

He saw her turn toward him out of the corner of his eye. "What are you doing here, Oliver?" There was no anger in her voice, only a hint of curiosity.

He turned to her then too, finally looking upon the face he'd been missing for too long. The sun had finally touched the horizon, setting the sky, and her eyes and hair, on fire. "I...I wanted to see you. To make sure you were ok...to ask you why you left the way you did. To talk. We need to talk." Now he was the one babbling.

She turned back to the sea. "I thought John would have explained it all to you."

"He did. He showed me your email, actually."

"He shouldn't have done that. It wasn't meant for you." She sounded uncertain, uncomfortable, pulling her knees to her chest and toying nervously with the frayed hems of her jeans.

That hurt him a little. "Felicity..."

"It's Allie now. I mean that's what I'm known by here, so be careful when there are other people around."

He was glad she didn't ask him to call her Allie. She would never be anything but Felicity to him. "Why didn't you write to me too?" he asked gently, almost afraid of her answer.

Her poise slipped a little, and her knew his question had upset her. "I...I tried. I just didn't know what to say." She paused and finally looked at him again. "I'm sorry."

At that moment they were interrupted by a male voice calling out in Greek from the bar behind them. Felicity turned and replied, also in Greek.

"I have to get back. Dimitri is leaving, and we still have a couple of customers." She stood, slipping on her flip-flops and dusting the sand off the seat of her jeans. He remained seated and watched her, unsure as to what he should do, waiting to take his cues from her.

"Are you coming?" She threw him a glance as she picked up the bottle and glass and started to head back to the bar.

He hopped quickly to his feet, snatched up his backpack, and followed her to the house tucked against the hillside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver wants to talk about the letter. Felicity really doesn't.

Felicity was acutely aware of his presence behind her as she made her way back to the taverna, and was surprised at how un-flustered she was by his unexpected reappearance in her life. She waved at the Two Spiros - a coupe of widowers, both named Spiro, who had become regulars when their wives died - and made her way behind the bar. 

Setting the bottle and glass down, she watched as Oliver soundlessly entered her taverna, looking a bit too dangerous for comfort in black cargo pants and a black t-shirt. He stopped just inside the doors and looked around, and she knew him well enough to recognize that he had briefly slipped into Arrow mode. 

Even here, in this sleepy, mostly ignored part of a small Greek island, he was scoping out the place, locating all possible exits. He even gave the two Spiros a quick once-over, looking for potential threats.

It made her inexplicably sad. To live at such a heightened level of awareness, to never be able to just be...she suddenly longed to see his face and demeanor free of that perpetual wariness and state of readiness his five years away had forced on him.

Starved for the sight of him, she took the opportunity to really _look_ while his attention was elsewhere, and found him changed. 

He was still as handsome and well built as ever, his hair was maybe a bit longer, but he was paler than usual and had purple shadows under his eyes. He looked incredibly weary and drawn, and she found herself hoping that he would stay a while. Greece had a way of recharging your soul, and he looked like he sorely needed it. She had never seen him so depleted.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" she offered as soon as she saw the watchfulness melt out of him.

"Thank you, yes." He seated himself on to one of the barstools across from her and dropped his backpack on the floor beside him. 

She took down another glass and poured him some, handing it to him without a word. His fingers brushed hers when he took the glass, and she drew in an audible breath at the contact. Their eyes caught like magnets, and they stared at each other for a beat. 

"Where are you staying?" she asked to break the growing tension.

He took a sip of wine, holding her gaze. "A little hotel by the port."

Felicity looked away and started tidying behind the bar in preparation for closing, stacking dirty glasses and cups in a tub. "The one down the alley by the docks?" She kept her eyes fixed on his hands to keep from looking into his eyes.

"Yes." He slowly rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers.

She started wiping down the bar. "I stayed there when I first got here. It's a cute little place." She glanced up, and her eyes locked with his again. They stared at each other wordlessly. An awkward silence reigned.

"Felicity..."

"Have you eaten?" she blurted out suddenly, afraid he was going to ask her about the letter. She wasn't ready for that just yet.

He let out a resigned sigh, which she chose to ignore. "No, I haven't."

"Maria usually leaves me leftovers from lunch. Would you like to join me?"

He smiled softly. "I would love to join you."

"Good." She dried her hands on a bar towel and tucked it into her waistband. "Let me go see what we've got. Be right back."

She headed around the corner wondering how long she was going to be able to put him off, and walked into the kitchen to find a large rectangular basket on the table where Maria usually left her dinner before leaving. Inside it Felicity found a baking dish containing two generous pieces of moussaka, a plastic wrap covered dish of home made taramasalata with some wedges of Maria's fluffy pitas in a basket, various tupperware containers with dolmades, kalamata olives, and small peppers stuffed with feta and drizzled with olive oil. And snuggly wrapped in an honest to goodness red and white checked cloth, half a crusty loaf of bread.

Apparently, Maria had seen Oliver sitting on the beach with her and had gotten some ideas in her head, if the candle she had tucked in to the basket - despite knowing that Felicity had plenty of candles in her apartment - was any indication.

"Interfering old busybody," Felicity muttered good-naturedly.

"What did you say?" Oliver called from the other room.

She picked up the basket and carried it out, setting it down on the counter. "Nothing. It's just, I think Maria saw you coming. She put together dinner for two. And," she pulled out the candle and waved it at Oliver, "I think she is jumping to certain conclusions."

The smile on Oliver's face was enigmatic. As always.

Fortunately, before their latest stare-fest could get uncomfortable, the scraping of chairs against tile told her the two Spiros were getting ready to leave, dropping bills and coins on the table and calling out goodnight to her. 

" _Kali̱nýchta_ ," she returned with a wave, heading over to their table with a tray to collect their cups and glasses. She could practically feel his eyes on her as she worked, pocketing the money and wiping down the table. "Could you get the doors, Oliver?"

He looked surprised. "Do you usually close up this early?" Getting up, he walked soundlessly to the sliding doors leading to the screened-in patio where the guests ate lunch, and closed and locked them.

"No." She carried the cups and glasses into the kitchen. "Business usually picks up starting around ten, when the tourists are looking for somewhere to drink the rest of the night away." Putting them into the dishwasher, she added detergent and started it. "Only tonight, Dimitri had somewhere to be, so..." 

Turning, she almost ran into Oliver filling the doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb, arms crossed over his chest.

She yelped. "Still sneaking up on people, I see," she said sourly.

He flashed her an unrepentant grin.

She rolled her eyes. "Let's go." She snapped off the kitchen lights and took a step forward, expecting Oliver to step back. 

Only he didn't. She stopped short, dangerously close to him, and looked up in surprise.

His face deep in shadows, he peeled himself away from the door jamb and slowly uncrossed his arms. "Felicity," he murmured, the tone of his voice soft as a summer night. "We really need to talk."

Nope. No. No way. Not gonna happen. Not now. "Oliver." She was gentle but firm. "We're on my turf now. We'll talk when I'm ready. You aren't in a hurry to be anywhere, are you?"

"No," he replied after a beat during which she wondered if he would say anything at all, finally unblocking the doorway.

"Then let's go. we'll eat, and then I'll show you my apartment. Then we can talk. Maybe." 

She really didn't want to talk, not about what he obviously wanted to talk about: the Dear John letter. She was afraid talking about it would bring her past into her present, and she feared the disruption it could bring. Also, she was enjoying seeing Oliver in her new world and just wanted to stay suspended in that little bubble of time for a while longer.

Without looking at him, she handed him the basket, picked up the wine bottle and preceded him up the stairs to her apartment, only just beginning to realize her wounds hadn't healed quite as much as she thought they had.

>>>\---->

She was going to be stubborn about this, he thought as he shifted his grip on the basket and followed Felicity's swaying hips up the narrow stairs. He understood her reluctance, though. He was afraid of having the talk too, but he needed answers, and they needed to clear the air before they could - his train of thought stopped there. Before they could what? What where his expectations? Where would they go from there? He really hadn't thought beyond finding her and having it out with her.

Up above him Felicity opened the door leading into her apartment and he passed through it right into her living room, immediately noticing the large bay windows that opened out onto a roomy tiled balcony. 

"That's where we'll be eating."

He turned to her, noting the pride on her face as she spoke. He could tell she really loved her new home.

"It looks very inviting." He looked around as he followed her behind the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. "This place really suits you." 

Placing the basket on the counter, he stepped aside as Felicity moved in to unpack it. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can grab a couple of plates out of that cabinet. The silverware is there." She motioned with her elbow as she put the baking dish in the oven and turned it on. "Napkins and place mats," she said, pulling a couple of each out of a drawer and dropping them on top of the plates he was holding. 

"Now you can go and set the table. And close the doors behind you so the geckos don't get in," she called after him. "They creep me out, the way they hang upside down from the ceiling," he heard her mutter. "It's not normal."

He smiled and carried the plates and silverware out onto the balcony, placing them on the glass topped wrought iron table. 

The sun was long gone, and the sky was a rich indigo in which the first stars were starting to pulse. Cicadas were strumming so stridently they almost drowned out the sounds of the ocean, but the noise was strangely soothing, and Oliver became aware of a sensation he had become very unfamiliar with. He felt at peace, and very much present in the moment. Starling City, the Arrow, and all his worries seemed very, very far away all of a sudden. In that particular slice of time, Felicity filled his whole world.

The door opened behind him, and he was almost startled when her voice sounded right next to him. She had acquired some stealth of her own, he noted with interest. Either that or he was so comfortable in her presence that he allowed himself to let his guard down.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes." He turned to her. "It is." Watching her profile in the blue twilight, he was shocked to realize he wasn't talking about the view. 

He observed her as she lit the candle on the table, the two small tiki torches she had placed in each of the window boxes hanging off the balcony railings, and the two oil lanterns affixed to the wall on either side of the french doors, then started to set the table.

Reaching for her, he stopped her with a hand to her arm. "That's my job." He ran it lightly down to her wrist, feeling a trail goosebumps erupt under his fingers. 

She gave him a shaky smile and headed back into the house, closing the door behind her. 

By the time Oliver was done setting the table, Felicity was back with a tray. 

"Mezes." She set down bowls of appetizers and a basket of pita wedges along with two glasses, a fresh bottle of red and a bottle of white, and handed him a corkscrew. "Pick one and open it."

Seating herself opposite him, she helped herself to a couple of dolmades, a few olives and a couple of stuffed peppers, licking her fingers when she was done. The sight sent a jolt through him and he froze in the middle of uncorking the bottle. Fortunately for him she didn't notice, because she was in the middle of taking a big bite out of a pita triangle piled with a big dollop of taramasalata. She moaned, putting her fingers in front of her lips. 

"Maria makes the best taramasalata," she mumbled with her mouth full. He pulled himself together and laughed at her enthusiasm, leaning forward to pour her a glass of wine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally have the talk. Part of it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a problem with Oliver's reasons for why he didn't let her in on the plan to bait Slade. There seem to be two schools of thought on the subject: in one, Felicity was in on the plan, and in the other, she wasn't. Personally, I go by what I see on the screen, and everything I saw during that episode told me that Felicity didn't know she was being used. So that is what I went with. (It's still not clear to me whether she knew or not, but the general consensus seems to be that she did.)
> 
> The problem with this is that it is so out of character for Oliver to have used her without letting her in on the plan, not to mention not asking her if she was OK with being used like that, that I can't come up with a single good reason as to why he did it. Which made it a little hard for me to come up with a good excuse for him to give to Felicity.
> 
> I did the best I could, but it's still a pretty lame excuse.

What could have been an uncomfortable hour considering the conversation that was ahead of them, turned out to be an incredibly pleasant, relaxing evening. Oliver steered clear of anything related to Felicity's life in Starling City, choosing instead to draw her out on her new life here in Greece. She spoke eagerly and enthusiastically about it, concealing nothing, in stark contrast with the way she'd shut him down the few times he'd tried to bring up their shared past.

But evening had turned into night, they'd finished dinner, and he wasn't going to let her avoid the subject any longer. She seemed to sense it too, because she grew quiet as they cleared the dishes and moved back into the house. He helped her tidy up in silence and then waited for her in the living room while she extinguished the torches and lanterns, and locked the balcony doors.

She turned to him, avoiding his eyes. "Let me show you the rest of the place."

He caught her hand as she brushed past him, lacing his fingers through hers. "Felicity, wait." She stopped, but kept her eyes averted. "Please look at me," he murmured.

A look of resignation crossed her face and she did as he asked.

"We really need to talk."

"Shouldn't that be my line? You know, as a girl?" she quipped with a small smile.

He wouldn't be distracted. He just stared at her, blinking once.

Her shoulders drooped a little. "Ok, let's talk. What do you want to know?"

Leading her to the sofa, he sat and pulled her down next to him, regretfully letting go of her hand. "Who was the guy?" he finally asked, watching her closely.

Her eyes shot up to his, an incredulous look on her face. "That's what you want to know? Out of that whole letter, that's the first thing that comes to your mind?"

He grinned. "I thought it might break the ice." That, and he wanted to ease her into talking about the heavy stuff.

She laughed, and as he'd hoped, relaxed a little.

"He was the head of IT for Kord Industries," she started, making a great show of inspecting the polish on her fingernails. "We get our coffee at the same coffee shop. One day we both reached for the cream at the same time, and the rest, as they say, is history. I liked him. We had a lot in common." She looked up at him again. "You know the rest."

They exchanged a long look, wounded on her part and full of regret on his. "I'm sorry, Felicity. I never meant to hurt you."

She stood abruptly, walked over to the balcony doors and stared our into the darkness, her arms wrapped around herself like a shield. "Then why did you?" 

He rose and walked over to her, standing right behind her. "I don't really have much of an excuse." He spoke gently, longing to comfort her, but not knowing exactly how to go about it. "At least not one that will make you feel better. I thought your reaction would be more genuine if you weren't in on the plan."

"So you risked my life without my knowledge and consent because you think I'm a bad actress?" she asked stiffly.

"No, but you do babble. Slade didn't know that about you, and it could have looked suspicious to him."

There was a long silence, during which he patiently waited for a response from her "You're right," she muttered, her back rigid. "I don't like that excuse."

He reached out then, placing a hand on her shoulder. Though she tried to resist him, he gently but inexorably turned her around to face him. A shard of self-loathing and regret sliced through him at the devastation on her face. He had no idea it had hurt her so much. Her eyes were swimming, on the brink of spilling over.

She blinked, sending two fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her breath hitched, and she caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth.

He raised a hand up to cup her face, brushing the tears off her cheekbone with his thumb. "I really am sorry, Felicity," he whispered, his voice slightly unsteady, as he trailed his fingers down to her chin and gently pulled her lip free with his thumb.

He had no idea what finally undid her, but the dam broke. Felicity's face twisted, she hung her head, and started crying. His heart breaking, he pulled her to him, an arm around her shoulders and a hand cupping the back of her head. She stiffened at first, clearly unwilling to accept his comfort, but then she melted, her arms slipping around him. He felt her hands close over fistfuls of cotton against his back as she slumped against him, sobbing into his chest.

They stood like that for a long time, long enough for Felicity to cry herself out and for her breath to steady. He held her wordlessly, knowing there wasn't much he could say to make it better, until she finally pulled away, scrubbing the back of her hands over her eyes and smiling up at him a little sheepishly.

When she started shifting uncomfortably, he realized he was staring, as if he was finally seeing her properly. Almost without conscious thought, he reached behind her and pulled the pencil and screwdriver out of her hair, tossing them in the general direction of the sofa, threading his fingers in the long coil of hair that had fallen down her back, gently working the strands apart and letting them fall in a cloud around her shoulders.

"I didn't think you could get anymore beautiful." He picked up a copper curl that rested on her collarbone, rubbing it between his finger and thumb, entranced by the softness, and then laying it back almost reverently where he had found it.

Frozen in place, she stared at him in wide-eyed shock, eyes red, wet lashes clumped together like starfish arms.

Seeing the evidence of what he'd done to her catapulted him straight back into reality, and he slammed his eyes shut. Doubt flooded him. When it came right down to it, nothing had changed. He was still a danger to her, and the longer he stayed the more he was risking her anonymity on the island. It was bad enough that ARGUS knew, and even that was his fault; he had involved them, having no idea how to go about finding her himself. Now it has his turn to stand frozen, crippled by fear, indecision and regret.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to a look of appraisal on her face which quickly shifted into one of determination. Then Felicity did something that he never would have expected of her, something that completely stunned him. She took a step forward and slipped a hand around his neck, rising on her toes as she pulled him down to meet her lips.

She kissed him. Felicity Smoak kissed him.

There were no fireworks. The earth didn't move, planets didn't collide, and no stars fell from the sky. It was a small, quiet watershed moment infinitely more powerful than any cosmic event could ever be. It was soft and sweet and gentle, and rocked him to his core. For the first time he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be. Like he belonged in that exact moment in space and time.

His hands, which had naturally gravitated to her waist when her lips met his, slid to the small of her back, pulling her as close as was humanly possible, and because it wasn't close enough, speared his fingers into the curls at the back of her head, closing his hand into a fist over a handful of hair and anchoring her head as he devoured her mouth. All too soon that wasn't enough either, and he slipped his hands down over her ass to her thighs, lifting her off the ground. She dutifully wrapped her legs around his hips and he backed her into the French doors.

She tore her mouth away from his, breathing heavily. "Not here." She dropped her forehead to his shoulder.

"Where?" he rasped, scraping his teeth over her collarbone and thrusting his hips into her.

"Bedroom!" she cried. "Down the hall...first door to the right. Ah!"

He palmed her ass and hurried them down the hall, pushing the door open so hard it banged against the wall. "Wait!" he said when she flipped the light switch, turning on the night table lights. "Turn them off."

She threw a questioning glance at him but complied, and seemed to understand immediately. The room was bright, a window-shaped pool of moonlight reflecting off the white sheets. He walked her over to the bed, climbing on to the mattress on his knees still holding her pressed against him, and laid her gently down on the pillows, her hips cradled between his thighs, legs still hooked over his hips.

Her arms fell away from his neck and dropped to either side of her head. Reaching for the hem of his t-shirt he stripped it off and tossed it aside quickly, his fingers finding and undoing the buttons of her jeans next. He pulled them down over her hips, up her thighs, over her knees and the off, while she wrestled with her sweater which soon joined the rest of their clothes on the floor.

He was gentle at first, then grew rough, spurred on by her soft cries. For all he knew, this could be the only night he would have with her; he was going wring as much pleasure out of this night as his stamina would allow. For both of them. Though outside her bed he had to let her set the pace, inside it, he'd be the one in charge. He would lead, and she would follow, at least for tonight.

They made love on and off into the very early hours of the morning. Felicity dropped off first, but he wasn't far behind. Rolling onto his side, he buried his face in her hair, spread out like a dark mist on the pillow, and followed her into sleep.

His last conscious thought was of how right she felt against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to be further along with posting this, but my laptop completely froze up last night. I have to sneak in my edits and updates at work, so it's going to take a little longer than expected. This version is completely written though, and only requires minor corrections, so it shouldn't take TOO long.


	5. Chapter 5

Felicity woke up slowly, languorously, and stretched like a cat. Carefully. She was incredibly stiff, and knew that come evening, she would be feeling downright sore. In fact, she was pretty sure she had discovered muscles she didn't even know existed.

She hummed contentedly, rolling onto her back, and looked down at herself, then over at Oliver, to find he was hogging the sheet, the whole thing tangled around his hips. Reaching for her glasses, she put them on, propped herself up on her elbow, and just watched him.

This wasn't the first time she'd seen him sleep, but it was the first time she had seen him so unguarded. He was on his back, one arm resting above his head on the pillow, hand curled into a relaxed fist, the other down by his side, his face turned toward her as if he was seeking her out in his sleep.

He looked much better than he had yesterday. The shadows under his eyes had almost faded, and his face was free of the worries and stresses of his waking hours. She took the opportunity to stare unabashedly, to really drink in the masculine beauty of him, from his strong, stubbled jaw to the happy trail of downy hair disappearing beneath the sheets.

Her contentment dimmed a little when the reality of their situation intruded. Oliver had clearly come to check on her and clear the air between them, but beyond that, she had no idea what his plans were. She didn't know how long he was staying, and she had yet to ask about Queen Consolidated, Digg, Roy, or the vigilante business. He must be busier than ever, and for all she knew he could be leaving today.

Her mood plummeted even further when she realized that regardless of what happened between them, she wasn't going back to Starling. This realization genuinely surprised her, coming out of the blue as it did.

She hadn't actually given it any thought until that very moment. She had a life here. A strange and unexpected one, especially for an MIT grad whose entire existence revolved around computers, but it was a life she loved and didn't want to leave just yet. 

Her old life hadn't been left behind completely, as her guest room, littered with gutted computers, spare parts, and the tools of a tech nerd's trade, could attest to. She kept herself abreast of the latest discoveries and updates, wrote line after line of code to keep her brain limber, and built and repaired computers for any one in her extended family who needed help.

Shaking off her gloomy mood she rose, wincing, and hobbled toward the chest of drawers for something to wear, pausing when her eyes fell on Oliver's discarded t-shirt lying in a rumpled pile in the middle of the floor. She picked it up, and after sneaking a look back at Oliver to make sure he was still sleeping, lifted it up to her face and inhaled, letting his distinct scent permeate her senses. She pulled it over her head and immediately felt wrapped up in him as the soft cotton slipped down over her breasts, hips and thighs like a caress.

A tremor that had nothing to do with the temperature coursed through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, turning to gaze again at Oliver, stretched out on the crisp white sheets of her wrought iron bed. She was so busy staring, it took her a moment to realize something wasn't right about the light in the room. Usually she woke to a sun-drenched bed; currently, there wasn't a speck of sunlight on it, or anywhere else.

That was a very bad sign. Dashing toward her nightstand, she snatched up the phone charging there and let out a muffled yelp.

It was eleven o'clock. She was supposed to go to the market in the morning to shop for the day's food, and lunch was an hour away. Cramming her feet into her flip-flops, she rushed to the door, stopping as she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror.

Felicity had been intending to go downstairs wearing just the t-shirt. It was loose and reached mid-thigh; she'd worn dresses that were far tighter and revealed more skin. It was perfectly decent, yet somehow it was completely indecent. It would be so obvious to Maria that she was wearing Oliver's shirt. Add to that a tousled head of bed-hair - that was a thing, right? - and...she took a step closer to the mirror and frowned, peering at her face. Was that...? It was. Very visible beard burn around her mouth and chin.

Pulling the neck of the t-shirt away, she looked down her front. There was beard burn all over her breasts too, which meant it was probably between her legs, and who know where else. Cursing under her breath, she dashed into the bathroom, covered the rash on her face as best she could with concealer, then stepped into her jeans, hopping across the room as she pulled them on.

She rushed downstairs and into the kitchen. "Maria! I'm so sorry...oh."

Apparently, Maria had done the shopping for her. Not only that, but lunch was well under way. Pots rattled and burbled on top of the huge aga, belching steam occasionally, and a leg of lamb was roasting slowly in one of the ovens. She was sitting at the freshly scrubbed wooden table, enjoying a small cup of Greek coffee, and giving Felicity a very searching look.

Maria was a handsome woman of indeterminate age - she had teenage grandsons, so it had to be up there somewhere - with shrewd eyes black and shinning as olives, her hair equally so. She spoke perfect English; her husband, long since dead, had been an American tourist who arrived one summer and simply never left.

"What's that on your face?" She jerked her chin at Felicity over her cup.

Felicity worked her mouth like a fish, and Maria cackled loudly, rising and opening the fridge. She took out a cling film covered plate with three pieces of galatopita and a paper-wrapped package from the butcher's.

"Is that your galatopita?" Felicity asked reverently. "Your recipe?"

Maria threw her an insulted look. "I would never serve anything else," she said haughtily.

She placed the items on the tray, and turned to take two large cups down from the hooks under the cabinet, filling them both with hot milk from the stove. Next she slowly poured some incredibly muddy coffee out of the small coffee pot and spooned some of the coffee foam on top. She set both cups on the tray, picked it up, and handed it to Felicity.

"That's siglino, in the package. Men need meat. Now go and make yours a good breakfast."

Felicity felt her face heat up. "He's not my..." She rolled her eyes as Maria gave her another loaded look. "Never mind," she muttered.

She shuffled over to Maria and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, _Mana mou_." She lifted the tray a little to indicate it. "And thank you," she continued, with more meaning. Maria had been there for her in every way a good mother should be and had been a huge part in easing the pain of losing everything she had known and held dear.

Maria's eyes softened. "You're welcome, _Koritsi mou_." She patted felicity's cheek affectionately. "Be happy. And I don't want to see you at all today. But tomorrow, I expect to see the shopping here when I arrive, and you and your man ready to pitch in."

Felicity curtseyed. " _Nai kyría mou_ ," she said pertly, turning to leave the kitchen before Maria could flick her with a dishtowel.

"Don't you sass me, child," Maria called out after her.

After putting the milk pie and the package of smoked pork in the fridge, Felicity carried the two cups back into the bedroom and set them on the night stand.

Oliver hadn't moved. She took off her jeans and as she climbed onto the bed, he finally stirred. She looked up to see him watching her through half lidded eyes. His face broke into a lazy, sleepy grin, and he stretched.

"What time is it?" he asked her, his sleep-roughened voice doing strange things to her stomach. Before she could answer, he raised his head, heat flaring in his eyes. His voice got impossibly raspier. "Are you wearing my shirt?"

Felicity might have squeaked. "It's somewhere between eleven and twelve, and yes."

Eyes the color of stonewashed denim raked over her, something undefined in them. They rose and caught hers, and the two of them shared a long, intense look that made her drop her eyes and smile shyly. Her cheeks heated up for the second and probably not last time, and she busied herself handing him one of the cups of coffee.

"It's the Greek version of cappuccino," she murmured, avoiding his eyes as he rose on one elbow to accept the cup. "Just a warning, there are coffee grounds in the bottom. And it is slightly sweet. That's just the way Maria makes it. She made it for us. I didn't think to..." She flushed even warmer, as she realized she was babbling. Reaching for her cup she sipped slowly from it. Anything to keep herself from talking.

She felt Oliver sit up. He settled himself cross-legged in front of her, knees touching hers through the sheets that pooled low on his hips.

"Felicity," he murmured, making her name sound like silk and velvet rolled into one. 

When she finally looked at him, he was sipping his coffee and wearing that soft smile she loved. He reached out and lightly placed his free hand on the back of her arm, skimming his fingers lightly down past her elbow, to her hand, catching it in his. She broke out in goose bumps again and shuddered visibly. 

"It's good to see that you still ramble," he said softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, and making her blush all over again.

>>>\----->

Felicity was putting the finishing touch to breakfast - more accurately brunch - when a freshly showered Oliver wandered into the kitchen barefoot, dressed in jeans and a white shirt still unbuttoned over his bare chest, towel drying his hair.

"That smells good." He came up behind her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist, caging her against him.

"A Greek breakfast." She leaned back in to him while expertly folding the large omelet, in which she'd shredded some of the cured pork and added graviera cheese. She cut the omelet in half with the spatula and twisted out of his arms to plate each piece. 

"Here." She handed him the plates, and he put them on the island where she had already set two places, a small crock of fresh butter and some of the bread leftover from yesterday, warmed up again. 

"...and for dessert," she deposited the plate of galatopita next to the bread, "milk pudding. Also a breakfast food in Greece. It's a bit like cheesecake," she finished, when he raised his eyebrows in question. "Since this is basically brunch, dessert is a must."

They ate in companionable silence for a while as the sounds of lunchtime at the taverna drifted through the open windows along with a warm ocean breeze. It reminded her that but for Oliver's presence, she would be down there helping out as she did almost every day and would be doing again tomorrow. That in turn made her wonder if he would even be there tomorrow to pitch in as Maria had requested - although it was more like an order than a request - which kind of ruined her mood all over again.

"Is everything alright?"

She looked up from her half eaten omelet to see that Oliver had finished, and was watching her. Pushing her plate aside, she poured them both some more coffee - plain old drip coffee this time - and sighed.

"Oliver...when are you leaving? I don't mean to make it sound like I want to get rid of you, in fact you are welcome here, and I do mean here as in 'in my house' because of course you are welcome on the island, it's not mine to not welcome you to - did that sentence even make sense? My point is maybe we should check you out of your hotel and move your stuff here, but not if you have to head back out today. That's even assuming that you want to stay with me, which I'm guessing you do, given last night." She stopped and inhaled a much needed breath of air.

He smiled that lovely smile again. "Felicity. I would love to stay with you, and I'm not leaving today. This trip is open ended. I don't know how long I am staying."

Oh. "But what about...you know. Don't you need to get back to protecting the city from bad guys?"

Oliver pulled the plate of galatopita between them, removed the clingfilm and picked up his fork. "Roy and Laurel are keeping the bad guys in check with Digg's help when he isn't busy being a dad and Walter is back at QC as CEO, so..."

Wait. "What?!" Felicity shrieked, sending a piece of the pie flying off her fork. "Digg's a...Lyla had a baby?"


	6. Chapter 6

"They have a six month old baby girl. Her name is Emily." He frowned. "I would have thought you knew. If it's on the internet you can find it, right?" 

Felicity ducked her head. "I, uh..." She adjusted her glasses unnecessarily. How did she tell him she hadn't looked them up at all? She had wanted to, so many times, but had resisted the temptation, for the sake of her heart as well as her safety. Then again, ARGUS had found her despite all her precautions. Still, her heart...she thought she'd never see any of them again, and she thought it would be too painful to keep tabs on them. She had needed to make a clean break and it had been the right decision. "I didn't actually keep tabs on you guys," she said seriously. "I thought it would hurt too much."

A look of regret flashed across his face. "Felicity, I'm..."

She reached for his hand, clasping it in hers. "I know," she said softly, preempting another apology. "The only thing I feel you needed to apologize for was for using me, and you did that. And it suddenly occurs to me that I never actually told you that I accepted your apology, so...I accept your apology. As for the other reasons I left, that's just life happening. Nothing for you to beat yourself up about..."

"Except for Slade," he interrupted. "I was the one who put you on his radar by using you as bait..."

She interrupted him right back. "If you hadn't used me, I would have volunteered - well, if you'd told me about your idea, which knowing you, you might not have - the result would have been the exactly the same." She raised a finger to silence him as he opened his mouth. "And don't give me that 'I should have cured him/killed him/cured him then killed him back on the island' crap. You couldn't possibly have known where all this would lead. But enough of that," she continued quickly when she saw he was going to argue with her. "I want to hear more about Digg and Layla's daughter."

Oliver shrugged. "There's not much to tell. She's a cute, six month old baby. They don't do much at that age."

Felicity bit back a giggle, stacking the dishes and silverware. "You are such a _guy_." 

He stood up to help. "Well...yeah. Thanks for noticing," he quipped, taking the dishes out of her hands and ducking his head to give her a quick kiss on the lips.

She admired his retreating back. "Do you have a picture, at least?" 

He put the dishes in the sink leaned back against the counter. "Uh, no. Should I?"

"Oh my god," she muttered, rolling her eyes and turned to clear away the rest of their meal. She inhaled audibly when she felt his hands on her hips, and let him turn her around.

"Why don't you call him?" he suggested gently, slipping his hands to her back and reeling her in.

She ducked her head. "I don't...Do you think...?" He nudged her chin, lifting her face and looking at her encouragingly. "Is he upset with me?"

He smiled. "Of course not, Felicity," he said softly. "He loves you. If anything, he's incredibly proud of you for doing what's right for you."

"He is?" Her voice shook slightly, and very much against her will, he eyes welled up. Oliver took the mugs out of hands, put them in the sink, and returned to pull her back into his arms. She put her hands flat on his chest. "What about you?" she whispered. "Are you upset with me?"

"I..." He stopped, running his hands up and down her back, and looking over her head.

She put her hands on his cheeks and tipped his face down so he was looking at her again. "The truth, please," she continued, looking searchingly into his eyes.

"I'm not upset." He paused. "I was...hurt."

In true guy fashion, he didn't elaborate. But he really didn't need to. She had a pretty good idea of what she'd done to him. "Hurt _is_ upset," she said quietly, filled with regret, "and I'm sorry. Maybe I should have found the strength to talk to you, instead of just sneaking off..."

"Felicity." Now it was his turn to put his hands on either side of her face to ensure she kept her eyes on his. "You were right. I would have tried to talk you out of leaving, and I would have probably been successful. I would not have understood how serious you were, how badly you needed to go. And you wouldn't have turned into this even more amazing woman you've become. I would have endured a lot more to see that happen."

Her lower lip was dangerously close to trembling, so she bit down on it lightly to prevent that from happening. He smiled a slow, sweet smile that softened his eyes, and wrapped her in a all-encompassing hug. She tucked her head under his chin and sighed deeply, relaxing in to him.

If she hadn't been in love with him before, she certainly was now. Head over heels, to be exact. That thought should have terrified her, considering she had no idea where they were headed, but she was surprised to find that she was absolutely at peace with her feelings. Whatever happened, happened. She would deal with whatever came along.

They stood locked in their embrace for a long moment, both eventually pulling away at the same time.

"So..." Oliver asked, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "What do we do now? What do the Greeks do with their afternoons?"

"Well, for the most part, they take a nap. Or at least lie down for a rest, or...you know, other bedroom activities. It's too hot between noon and three or four to do much else."

She kept talking as Oliver took her hand and led her back to the bedroom. "Around four o'clock, people start showing up for pre-dinner drinks. We don't serve dinner here, but people in the know will occasionally ask for leftovers from lunch. In any case, it's pretty quiet around dinner time. Then things pick up later on in the evening, and Dimitri usually closes down when the last person leaves. Or when he's had enough, then he kicks people out. I kind of leave it up to him."

"That's not exactly the best way to run a business, Felicity." Oliver started unbuttoning his shirt.

She opened the balcony doors and reached out close the shutters, then took the screen out of the window so she could close do the same there. It dimmed the room and kept it a little cooler. She'd had the screens installed herself, all over the house - except for the doors to the balconies - in an attempt to keep as many of the insects, spiders, scorpions and other intruders out of the house as possible. Screens weren't typical on the island where people were used to sharing their homes with all of the above, and with the geckos and praying mantises who moved in and helpfully kept the insect population under control by snacking on them.

"I don't see it as a business, Oliver," she said as she replaced the screen. "I see it as _part_ of our lives, not something that runs our lives, if that makes sense. And certainly not something that should get in the way of actually living. If someone has to run errands on the mainland, or if there is a wedding, or something more important than work going on, then we either close, or if it's just Maria who can't make it then we stay open but don't serve lunch - we always have plenty of Mezes on hand, if nothing else, just in case..."

She turned back, and stopped talking immediately. Oliver was lounging on her bed in only his boxer briefs.

"What?" he said at the look on her face. "It's too hot to nap in clothes."

"We're going to nap?" Felicity felt relived and disappointed at the same time. She craved him, but didn't feel she could take another battering the likes of which she'd endured - happily - last night.

"When in Greece..." He grinned. "Besides, I saw the way you were walking earlier. It think you could use some recovery time."

"You don't need to be so smug about it," she muttered, climbing onto the bed with him. "And you should probably leave the thinking to me. I'm much better at it than you are."

"Ok, well, do you think you could lose this, then?" he laughed, toying with the hem of her - his - t-shirt. "Much as I like seeing you in my shirt, I'd much rather see you out of it."

"What's the point?" She flopped dramatically down on the mattress. "We're only going to nap after all..."

"Take it off, Felicity," he rasped.

"I don't think so, Oliver," she countered primly, propping herself on her elbow. "Tell me about Starling," she added quickly when a challenge flared in his eyes, hoping to forestall a tussle over the shirt that she would almost certainly lose. "How's Detective Lance doing?"

"He's an actual Detective again. He's been reinstated, and he's pretty much fully recovered. He's been working with us a lot more since we lost you; we've had to find different ways to get information. Laurel is still with the DA's office and Roy is running Verdant. Quite well, as a matter of fact."

Felicity frowned. "Verdant? I thought you lost the building."

"We opened up again over the new lair with the help of the money you left us. I own the building. I had no idea when I would get Queen Consolidated back, so we needed an additional source of income, and a reason to be close to the lair. It worked out perfectly. Our customers followed us there, and business is booming."

His eyes dimmed, and she knew talking about Verdant had brought his sister to mind. "What about Thea?" she asked gently. "Any news from her?"

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Nothing. Not a trace."

She reached for him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Are you OK?"

"I have to be." He turned his head to look at her, reaching across himself to twine his fingers with hers. "She's an adult. She has some resources of her own; I think she can take care of herself."

"Couldn't ARGUS have helped? They helped you find me after all."

Something in his expression shifted, and he let go of her hand. "I only got one favor from them.," he mumbled, turning his face back to the ceiling.

Shock hit her like a physical blow as the implications of what he'd said sank in. "You...Are you telling me you used your one and only favor to find _me_ instead of your _sister_?" she said incredulously, rising to her knees and staring at him in outrage.

He rose to his elbow. "Of course!" he said sharply, looking angry for some reason.

"What do you mean, 'of course'? She's your sister!" She was getting close to loud-voice territory.

Oliver charged right past "close" and headed straight for the upper altitudes of loud-voice territory. "She can take care of herself, Felicity!" he yelled, rising up to his knees as well.

"So can I!" she yelled back.

He grabbed her shoulders. "Yes, but you're..." He cut himself off suddenly, eyes wide, and let her go again.

They both stared at each other in shock as words unspoken hung in the silence between them. "I'm...what?" Felicity whispered after an endless moment, surprised at how quickly tempers had flared and then subsided again.

"I...I don't..." He seemed to be almost choking on his words. "All I know is I needed to find you. I just...I couldn't stop until I found you."

Felicity understood. She understood more than he was actually communicating, because Oliver's actions had always spoken louder - and better - than his words. She decided to let it go for the time being, trusting that he would unfold at his own pace.

"You said Walter is back as CEO" she commented, giving him an out.

He visibly relaxed. "Yes." Oliver lay back down on his side, pulling her down with him until they were curled up facing each other. "After everything Isabel had done was revealed, I was able to get QC back on the condition that someone else came on as CEO, at least until it was back up and running successfully again. I had already asked Walter to step in for me and he agreed. Everybody was happy, and I was able to dedicate myself to being the Arrow full time, and helping Roy out with Verdant. In short, I'm a billionaire again. Not quite to the level I used to be, but with Walter at the helm that will probably change."

The adrenaline surge brought on by their brief fight had receded, leaving Felicity suddenly feeling tired. "I'm happy for you," she murmured sleepily, reaching out to trace her fingertip under his eye. "You look much better. The shadows are almost gone. But you've got years of lost sleep to catch up on, so close your eyes..." She brushed her fingers lightly over his eyelids, and they closed under her soft touch. "...and let's take that nap."

Just as she was slipping into sleep, a thought that had been circling her subconscious came to the fore. "Wait," she mumbled, dragging her eyes open. "Why did ARGUS owe you a favor anyway?"

There was no reaction or reply from Oliver. Used to catching sleep wherever and whenever he could take it, he was already out cold. Filing the mystery away for future solving, Felicity let sleep take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As odd as it may sound, when I picked the Digglet's name I wasn't thinking of EBR. I didn't make the connection. I just liked the name. And since I wrote this between season 2 and Season 3, the Digglet hadn't been born yet. I didn't change it once we found out her name was Sara for reasons that will become clear eventually.


	7. Chapter 7

Oliver was the first to wake. He came to awareness slowly, becoming conscious of the room and of Felicity breathing softly beside him before opening his eyes to the gloom of the shuttered bedroom.

For a few seconds he felt carefree and at peace, caught in one of those moments of absolute rightness he'd already experienced several times since finding her. Then he remembered the argument which had ended with him failing to define what Felicity was to him.

A shadow fell over his mood.

He hadn't cut himself off because he was afraid of telling her what she was to him, but because he simply didn't know. Yet. If he couldn't define it in his own head yet, how could he define it to her?

Thankfully, Felicity had been understanding enough to let it go. But at some point, he would have to sort out his feelings and decide what he was going to do about the two of them.

It was becoming clear that Felicity was dug in here, and would not be coming back to Starling with him. It had been his plan to convince her to go back with him, but now...he wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Felicity had blossomed and flourished here, and in the end, he wanted what was best for her. Besides, he didn't think he could talk her into returning, even if he tried.

He reached for his phone to check the time. It was almost three-thirty. Sitting up, he turned to observe her, lying on her side facing away from him. Her t-shirt was rucked up under her breasts exposing the dip and swell of her waist and hip, and her cotton-covered backside was pressed into his hip.

Moving away carefully so as not to disturb her, he had a good long look at her. The white lace-trimmed boy shorts left half of her cheeks exposed, and he was struck out of the blue by his desire for her. His breath stuttered, and he decided a cold shower was in order. It would also chase the remaining sleepiness away.

Showering quickly, he shut off the water and stepped out, drying himself off and wrapping the towel around his hips before heading back into her bedroom, finding her already up. She had opened the shutters and was standing in front of the mirror dressed in what looked like an off-the-shoulder ankle length white t-shirt, trying to wrestle her unruly hair into some kind of a braid.

He watched her hungrily.

Their eyes caught in the mirror and Felicity froze, her hands dropping away from her behind her head and to her sides. Her cheeks flamed at the intensity of his attention. Oliver's eyes raked over her slowly, lingering on her bottom, then lifted to hers again. He flashed her a predatory grin.

Felicity wiped the smirk right of his face when her tongue darted out, ran quickly over her lower lip, and disappeared into her mouth again.

"Do you need some help with your hair?" he asked, changing the subject for the sake of his mental health.

She went back to wrestling hanks of hair into a decidedly un-braid-like tangle of messy curls. "Not unless you can do a braid."

"French braid or regular?" He seated himself near the end of the bed and patted the space at the foot, gesturing for her to sit down.

Her eyes went wide. "You know how to do a French braid?"

He smiled sadly. "Thea fell in love with them when she was a little girl. Nobody in the house knew how to do them, so I learned. I've had a lot of practice braiding her hair.

"That's...incredibly sweet." Felicity picked up a wide-toothed comb and some hair clips, and sat at the end of the bed with her back to him, handing him the comb over her shoulder. He pulled his leg up onto the bed so he could turn more fully toward her and got to work untangling the mess she had made, until he could run the comb from toot to tip without encountering a knot. Then deftly gave her a loose French braid with a generous tail.

"What do you want me to tie it with?"

She handed him a couple of dragonfly clips, and he used them to fasten the braid securely. Reaching across the bed for his phone, he snapped a picture of his handiwork, and reached around her to show her, getting up close and personal in the process. He turned to bury his nose in the hair behind her ear, inhaling the warm, sunny scent of her, and when she reached for the phone to get a better look, slipped his hand around her waist to splay it on her stomach, feeling her muscles leap beneath his touch.

"Wow," she mumbled distractedly as he dropped his lips to where her neck met the slope of her shoulder, "you're good at that. The braid, I mean. Not that you aren't good...at...that...too..."

She seemed to lose her train of thought as he placed open mouthed kisses up and down the slender column of her neck, his hand sliding up to cup one of her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, he noted with satisfaction as he thumbed the hard cotton-covered peak, drawing a shuddering breath out of her.

He was about to wrap his other arm around her and haul her backwards onto his lap when she pulled away from him and stood abruptly, turning to hand him his phone.

"If we keep this up, we'll never get anything done today." Her smile widened, presumably in response to the disgruntled expression he was sure he was wearing.

"Come on," she laughed, reaching for his hand and pulling him up. "Get dressed. Let's go into town, check you out of your hotel, and I'll show you around a little."

He reached for her, intent on dragging her back, but she evaded his grasp, and backed away to the door.

"Dress," she ordered him sternly, pointing a finger at him. "I'll be waiting for you in the living room."

He did as he was told, pulling on his jeans and tucking his phone and wallet into his back pockets. He stepped into his shoes and was buttoning up his shirt as he joined her in the living room where she was rummaging through a large purse.

She looked up when he walked in and gave him a once-over, her eyes settling on his Italian leather shoes. "We need to get you some more appropriate footwear. You need some espadrilles or flip flops, something more suited to this climate. You must be uncomfortable in those shoes."

"I'm not wearing espadrilles." He spoke with absolute finality.

"Flip flops it is." She shouldered her bag and opened the door leading down to the taverna. "There's a store that sells really nice leather ones. We'll stop there first. let's go."

He followed her happily and without question. He was coming to realize he would follow her anywhere.

They decided against walking into town. It was just after four and while the weather had cooled somewhat, it was still a little warm to make the half-hour walk. Felicity led him out via the front of the taverna, onto a gravel road that dead-ended in the taverna parking lot, where her Vespa was parked. It had been fitted with a large wire basket "to carry groceries back home," she informed him, showing him the additional space under the seat.

Oliver reluctantly let her drive, sitting behind her and wrapping his arms around her, and they headed south along the coastal road - which was more like a lane barely big enough for two cars to pass each other - making the short trip into town.

Felicity whizzed deftly into a parking lot reserved for motorcycles on the outskirts of town, pulled into a small space and turned off her bike.

"We'll walk from here," She dismounted and pulled her purse out of the basket. Their hands brushed, and he took the opportunity to lace his fingers through hers. She smiled up at him, and they started their walk into town.

They headed toward the docks, their first order of business - after getting Oliver some flip flops and stowing his shoes under the seat of the Vespa - being to check him out of his hotel, and have his luggage delivered to the taverna. Once that was done, they wandered up the steep roads into the town, exploring side streets and finding hidden squares, many of which had some kind of a water feature in the middle.

Oliver, unable to shake his lingering desire for her, saw only potential places to make love to her. He was beginning to think he would never be sated, that he would always want her - which of course brought him back to the problem at hand, namely that she was firmly entrenched here, and he was based in Starling city, a vast ocean separating them.

Then again, did he really need to be based in Starling City? Queen Consolidated was thriving in Walter's capable hands, and crime was down enough that Laurel and Roy, with the help of Quentin Lance and Digg, could easily handle what was left.

Both Laurel and Roy were thriving in their secret identities, especially Roy. He was a born do-gooder who wanted nothing more from life than Thea, and to defend the weak and oppressed. With Thea missing, defending the city took up all his time. Did the city really need the Arrow anymore? Dare he let his alter-ego go for now, and have a life for himself? He could always make trips back and forth, if he was needed. It's not like money was an issue anymore.

"Hey, are you OK?" Felicity broke into his thoughts with a squeeze of his hand, moving to stand in front of her. "You seem distracted."

He looked down at her, smiling. "Just thinking. Sorting through some things in my head," he said, affectionately pinching her chin.

"Anything I can help you with?"

"Not right now." Unable to resist, he stepped closer, releasing her hand, and cupped her face with both of his, dipping his head to kiss her slowly, deeply and thoroughly. "But I promise to tell you when I've figured things out," he finished when he'd had his fill of her mouth.

"I'll hold you to that." She rose on her toes, finding his lips again with hers.

"Now let's head back down." Turning, she towed him along behind her. "There's something I want to show you. I found this gorgeous little cove the first week I was here. I got lost, ended up trying a short-cut down this rocky path between two houses and found it completely by accident. You can't actually swim there 'cause there's no way to get down, but..."

He listened to her babble, following her wordlessly as she wandered cobbled alleyways ending in countless dead ends or locked gates to the beach.

Finally they ended up in yet another dead end, this one with an archway off to the left. It had one of those old fashioned wooden inn signs hanging from a wrought iron contraption sticking out from a whitewashed wall. A diminutive man in the black pants and white shirt of a waiter started prattling in Greek at them, reaching for Felicity's hand and kissing it. She looked startled but not uncomfortable, so he let it slide, following as she was led through the archway into a walled patio beyond.

There was a tree growing in the middle strung with tiny white lights, and the corners of the patio were choked with terracotta pots crammed with colorful plants and flowers. Ranged around the tree were a few wrought iron tables covered in white cloths and set for dinner. The candles were lit, but no one was seated at the tables.

"Felicity?" he questioned when the waiter bypassed the patio and led them through a door and down a dark hallway, passing a kitchen and an indoor dining room.

"It looks like we are having dinner here." She turned to grin wryly at him. "This waiter is very convincing."

"Are you OK with that? What did he say to you?" he asked her retreating back, not sure if she was being somehow coerced. "If he's being pushy..." He stopped when Felicity gasped, and looked beyond her.

They had been led onto an outdoor terrace, shaded by vines heavy with grapes, built right up against the ocean, straight to a table at the very edge. Hanging baskets dripping flowers ringed the terrace, and here was a six foot drop down to where a malachite sea was lapping against the wall below. It was quite romantic, he thought, scowling when the waiter held out Felicity's chair for her, beating him to it.

The waiter tried to hand them menus which Felicity rejected, having some sort of an animated discussion with him that seemed to please him very much. He eventually left, taking the menus with him.

"What was that all about?"

"I told him I was leaving our dinner choices up to him," she told him happily, reaching for and crunching on a bread-stick. "He's going to bring us a selection of everything the restaurant is most proud of."

She stopped. "I hope that's OK," she continued uncertainly. "I didn't think to check with you. It's just it's a great way to discover new dishes you might never have thought to ask for on your own. Except I did ask for calamari, which he said are the best on the island. I didn't tell him Maria's are in fact the best. Not that I've had the calamari here though, so who knows. We can call him back if you want to order something specific..."

"It's perfect, Felicity," he interjected softly, reaching for her hand across the table. "I want to discover this place through your eyes, doing things the way you do them. I'm happy to just be here with you."

It ended up being one of the best meals he had ever had, and that was saying something, considering his money had bought him some astounding meals over the years. They were brought smaller portions of various appetizers and main courses and shared everything, with Felicity describing each dish to him and correcting his pronunciation. Stuffed, they declined dessert, only to be brought a sampling of cookies and pastries with their coffee, on the house. Given the number of times the red-faced chef poked his head out on the terrace to look at Felicity, reddening even further when she expressed her enthusiastic approval for his food, he guessed it was entirely due to her presence.

They were lingering over their second cup of coffee when he caught her observing him over her cup with a pensive look. He raised his eyebrows in silent question.

"Why did ARGUS owe you a favor?" she blurted out, taking him completely by surprise. Of all the questions she could have asked, he had not expected that one, which was why he felt, and probably looked, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It...uh...it wasn't exactly a favor," he stammered, thinking quickly. "They...the deal was I had to do a job for them in exchange for their help." He hoped, in vain, that she would leave it at that.

Fat chance. She was Felicity "mysteries need to be solved" Smoak after all. Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of a job?" she asked warily, setting her cup down.

"I...they needed me for access to somewhere only Oliver Queen could go," he replied reluctantly. It was the truth, but he was being deliberately vague.

"You don't want to talk about it do you?" she said, stating the obvious. "You didn't have to kill anyone for them, did you?" she continued sharply, as the thought occurred to her, a wild look in her eyes.

He replied with zero hesitation. "No," he lied confidently. Killing for them had not been part of the deal, but he'd had to anyway. It was only afterwards that he'd realized that it would have been impossible for him to do the job without killing. They had set him up, which was why they were absolutely not an option when it came to finding Thea. He would never trust them again.

And Felicity must never find out the lengths he had gone to to find her.


	8. Chapter 8

The restaurant was starting to fill up by the time they left - after a brief argument over who would pay for dinner.

Oliver won. Well, he did't so much win as ride roughshod over her and do what he wanted, holding the small tray with his card on it out of her reach. Felicity wanted to pay, since he was the guest, but he wasn't having any of it. She knew Oliver was a little old school in that respect and let it go.

Outside the quiet cul-de-sac which housed the restaurant, the streets had considerably livened up as cooler temperatures brought out both the tourists and locals. The sidewalks in front of stores were crammed with goods and thronged with shoppers looking for post cards and souvenirs. Oliver moved to the other side of her, keeping himself between her and the street, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. She slipped her arm around his waist and held on as he navigated the crowded sidewalk, eventually stepping out into the street with her. There were practically no cars anyway, only mopeds and the occasional donkey.

"That was a great place." Oliver steered her around a couple of teenagers locked in a passionate embrace. "We'll have to remember it. What's it called, anyway? The only name I saw was in the greek alphabet."

"It's called The View." They turned onto a quieter street, heading down toward the docks.

"What's that in Greek?"

"i̱ théa," she translated for him.

"E thea?" he repeated. "Really? T. H. E. A?"

"Yes. The Thea, basically."

He was silent for a moment, and she looked up at his profile. "I like it," he said pensively, looking back down at her, a small smile playing on his lips. For once he didn't look sad thinking about his sister.

"It seems somehow serendipitous." She returned his smile with one of her own.

When they got back to her Vespa, Oliver overruled her again, this time insisting on being the one to drive, catching her wrist and carefully peeling back her stubborn fingers to take her keys from her.

"I hope you feel ridiculous riding this after your Ducati," she muttered sourly as she climbed on behind him.

"I don't care what I look like. I just want to be the one driving." He steered them out of the parking lot and down the road. She could hear the laughter in his voice, and smiled into his back.

Felicity turned her face toward the sea, pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades and just watched the coastline slip by. As she let herself be hypnotized by the view of setting sun and gilded waves, and the warm, solid feel of Oliver in her arms and beneath her cheek, her heart swelled with a deep contentment. She didn't think she'd ever been happier, and once again found herself nursing the tender hope that he might stay for a good, long while.

Her daydreams were interrupted by the sounds of revelry up ahead. She frowned, lifting her head and looking toward the taverna over Oliver's shoulder.

"Oh crap!" she yelped. "I forgot! One of Maria's nephews got married today. The party's at the taverna. I was supposed to go to that! I was supposed to help cook and decorate!"

The parking lot was full, so Oliver pulled up to the front entrance of the taverna. "I thought Maria told you she didn't want to see you today?" He shut off the bike and propped it before getting off and holding out his hand to Felicity.

She took it, even though she didn't need help, then retrieved his shoes from under the seat and handed them to him.

"True." She paused when she saw the indefinable look of...something on his face. "We're going to sneak up to my place and skip the party," she decided, right then and there.

"I don't think that's going to work, Felicity. Your stairs are visible from the taverna. Someone is going to see us."

"Ah, but there's a back entrance into my place." She winked at him, leading him through the entrance, then immediately left to another door which opened into a stairwell. "Rumor has it the original owner who had the taverna built wanted an apartment above so he could entertain his mistresses throughout the day. Or rather have them entertain him, if you catch my drift. He had the back stairway built so they could get into the apartment unseen."

She felt him press against her when she stopped at the top to open the door, which led into the bedroom hallway, and had barely toed off her flip flops when she found herself pinned against the wall by Oliver, pressing his body into hers. He pulled her purse off her shoulder and she heard it fall to the floor with a muffled thud.

"I have to kiss you. Right now," he rasped urgently, his hands cupping her face.

He left her no time to reply, kissing her so thoroughly and deeply she was left breathless and weak-kneed.

"Felicity," he breathed, when he came up for air, nuzzling her jaw. "I've been wanting to do this all day."

"Well." Her voice was unsteady. "That was...unexpected. Really unexpected. And hot. I normally hate that word, but it really fits in this particular situation to a T. Very hot." She took a shaky breath. "Uh, I don't think I can stand without the wall holding me up."

"Allow me." He swung her up into his arms and looked down at her with a satisfied smile. "Now what?"

"I think I need a quick nap,' she yawned, squirming to be let down. He set her on her feet and she clung to him until she was sure her legs could carry her weight without folding. "And I know just the place to do it." She took Oliver's hand and led him into her bedroom.

"Not the bed?" he questioned when she bypassed it in favor of the balcony.

"Not the bed," she confirmed, turning right and then right again at the end of the balcony, starting up yet another staircase, a recessed outdoor staircase that led to the roof.

"This house is an endless source of surprises," she heard him say behind her as they emerged onto the flat, tiled roof. Felicity made a beeline for the only piece of furniture up there, a large, weather-beaten wooden trunk.

"Help me," she called to him, opening the trunk and pulling out piles of thick quilts and pillows."Spread the quilts out on top of each other."

She pulled out a cotton sheet that would serve as a blanket and unfolded it, shaking it out, stepping onto the quilts. Sinking to her knees, she stripped off her dress and cast it aside.

A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see him outlined by a fiery sky, looking down at her with a fierce possessiveness, immediately erased from his features when he noticed her looking. She felt suddenly vulnerable, kneeling at his feet as she was, but kept her eyes on his.

He stared at her inscrutably for a long moment, then broke the spell, pulling his shirt over his head and stripping out of his jeans and boxers. He stretched out beside her, arranging the pillows beneath his head, and then held out his arm in invitation. She curled up against him, her head resting right above his pec, pulling the sheet over the two of them as he folded his arm around her.

They lay in comfortable silence. Felicity closed her eyes and let herself be lulled by the rhythmic song of the cicadas, the susurration of the shifting waves whispering on the sand, even the laughter and music spilling out of the taverna and up into the evening sky. Loose-limbed, languid and very well loved, she fought sleep, listening to the steady beat of Oliver's heart until she and the sky faded to black.

The moon had risen when she woke up, face down on the quilts. The silence told her the party downstairs was over, so it must have been late. Lifting her head, she turned it on the pillow to face Oliver, or at least the place Oliver should have been.

He wasn't there.

Rolling over and sitting up, she looked around, spotting him immediately, standing by the wall overlooking the ocean. He was still naked, skin gleaming white like marble in the moonlight. While she was appreciating his physique - he looked like a Rodin sculpture- she noticed that there was something off about his posture.

Feeling a sudden chill fall over her, she stood and reached for his dress shirt, pulling it over her head and wrapping her arms around herself in an almost unconscious gesture of self-protection. Giving him a wide berth, she ended up at the wall herself, six or so feet away from him.

His face was turned away from her, but she still saw enough of his profile to confirm her suspicions. Oliver's expression was closed off. He was back in his head, wrestling with who knew what demons. Something must have happened while she was asleep.

Her heart fell. "You're thinking about leaving, aren't you?" she blurted out, the words leaving her mouth before she even realized she'd opened it. He turned, and the surprise on his face told her that he hadn't known she was there.

"No." He spoke softly, looking at her with intense eyes. "Quite the opposite."

She swallowed convulsively. "What do you mean?"

"I'm thinking about staying."

Her heart leaped into her throat. "You mean..." She searched for the right words. "Are you talking about making your home here? With me?"

"Yes, Felicity," he murmured, taking a step toward her. "That's exactly what I mean."


	9. Chapter 9

"That's a very big decision, Oliver," she said, with what looked like a guarded hope on her face. "Is that what had you so preoccupied today?"

He stopped in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. "Yes to both of those." He stared down into her beautiful eyes. "But it's what I have to do. Want to do," he added. Then, barely audibly, "need to do."

"Have to do?" She raised an eyebrow, placing her hands flat on his chest, the first step to pushing him away. Or trying to, anyway. "I don't want to be an obligation. If you're doing this because you think I need protecting or something..."

"Whether you need protecting or not, I'll be doing it anyway," he interrupted firmly. "And you're not an obligation. I'd say you are more of a necessity at this point. And since I'm pretty sure you aren't going back to Starling any time soon, I have to stay here. I want to be here with you more than I want to be anywhere else. As far as I am concerned there is no choice to make. I want you."

She observed him with an appraising glint in her eyes, as if she was weighing the truth of his words. She seemed to come to a determination as her pretty lips bloomed into a Mona Lisa smile.

"Do you understand, Felicity? I want you," he repeated insistently.

"I understand." She smiled sunshine at him. "Oliver?"

"Yes, Felicity?"

"You're not wearing any pants."

He let out a bark of laughter and pulled up the hem of her shirt to palm her bare bottom. "Neither are you." His eyes never left hers.

She yawned widely, letting out an adorable little squeak as she did. "Let's go to bed." She blinked sleepily up at him. "I have to be up at seven to go to the market. You are wreaking havoc with my beauty sleep, mister."

"Doesn't seem to be harming you any. I'll be right down," he called after her. "Leave those, I'll get them," he added when she started to pick up the quilts.

He watched until she disappeared down the stairs, then turned back to look out over a moonlit sea and was soon trapped in his head again.

He couldn't believe he had told her. Every word was true, but he hadn't been ready to say them, as evidenced by his verbal fumbling earlier, when he tried to explain how he felt about her. Still, better that than let her think he was actually contemplating leaving her.

He couldn't fathom going back to a life without her.

But he hadn't quite purged the guilt of abandoning his city yet. It was definitely lessened, given that he'd left not one, but two vigilantes in his place - even if they were vigilantes in training. But his desire for Felicity eclipsed all other considerations, which was not all good. He had not heard her approaching tonight, hadn't paid attention to his surroundings at the restaurant, and had barely scanned the streets for threats when they were out walking. This was not normal behavior for him, though maybe it should be. He also hadn't worked out for about four days, spending a lot of that time sitting on planes or trains, or standing on crowded decks.

He decided he would set his phone on vibrate when he went to bed, and go for a run at dawn. Turning away from the view, he found his jeans and pulled them on, not bothering with the buttons.

After he folded the blankets and put everything back in the chest, he headed back down to the bedroom, expecting to find Felicity already asleep.

The bed was empty.

With a frown, he left the room and wandered into the living area, finding her sitting at the island swinging her legs and eating cookies from a plate half covered in plastic wrap.

"I was thirsty." She licked powdered sugar of her fingers, totally unaware that she drove him insane every time she did that. "I came in for a drink of water, and found that Maria had your luggage brought up," - she waved in the general direction of her front door where his suitcases were neatly arranged - "along with some wedding cookies."

She picked up another fat cookie caked in powdered sugar and crunched down on it. "Mmmm...you should try one," she mumbled over a mouth full, following it up with a sip of milk. "You can't beat cookies and milk," she sighed happily.

"What happened to going to bed?" He decided to skip the cookies tonight, and enjoy her enjoying them instead.

"Going now." She crammed the rest of her cookie in her mouth, covering the rest back up and sliding off the chair to put her glass in the sink.

"I'm going for a run tomorrow morning, early," he said as they undressed and climbed into bed, "but I'll be back in time to go to the market with you."

She rolled over under the sheet and faced him, fluffing her pillows. "Oh, you don't have to come with me. I'm used to going on my own. You just take your time, come back when you're ready."

"I'll be back in time," he repeated, reaching around to cup the back of her neck and pulling her in for a long goodnight kiss. "Don't leave without me."

"Mmmkay..." She snuggled into the pillows, and was out in seconds.

It didn't take him long to follow her into sleep.

>>>\---------->

Felicity woke shortly before seven, to an empty bed drenched in sunlight.

She stretched luxuriantly and happily, and rolled onto her back, smiling at the ceiling and wondering where Oliver was right now.

Thinking about him brought to mind how crazy her life had become since he had reappeared unexpectedly in her life. He'd been here only for a full day and two nights, and so much had already changed between them. They were moving super fast, but for some reason it felt absolutely right.

Although he had yet to say the words - for real, not as part of some scam to trick Slade - she was absolutely certain that he loved her. It was evident in the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, the way he touched her, and in the things he said. While it would be nice to hear the words themselves, they were absolutely not necessary. He was telling her all the time, in every way but verbally. And now, he was actually considering staying here. He was going to stay, she amended. He just didn't know it yet.

She jumped out of bed and bounced into the bathroom, pinning up her by now very messy braid before turning on the water and stepping under the warm spray. She had just finished rinsing off when the door to the stall opened suddenly, and a sweaty, naked Oliver stepped into the shower with her.

"You scared the crap out of me!" she yelped, punching him in the arm. "I didn't hear you come in."

He stepped forward under the water, looming over her, crowding her against the wall, hands fastening over her soapy breasts. "They are already clean," she scolded him, batting his hands away. "You need to wash yourself so we can get going."

"I'm just helping you rinse off," he growled, reaching for her again.

"Not by pushing me out of the way and hogging all the water, you aren't." She smacked his hands again and pushed her way back under the spray.

He refused to move, so she was forced to get up close and personal, rubbing herself all over him while turning under the spray, trying to rinse herself off while fending off what felt like three pairs of hands at the same time. Which, going by the smug, self-satisfied look on his face, was absolutely fine by him.

She managed to escape eventually, leaving him to finish showering alone.

By the time he was back in the bedroom dressing, one of his suitcases open on the bed and spilling clothes everywhere, she was already clothed in another t-shirt dress, this one a pale, icy blue-green that offset her tan nicely, and had combed her hair, pulling it up into a high ponytail.

Out in the living room, she pulled the shopping list Maria had left out from under the plate of cookies, tucking it into her wallet, which she placed in the backpack she usually took to the market with her in case all the groceries didn't fit in her Vespa.

"Oliver!" she yelled. "Oh. There you are," she continued when she turned to find him right behind her, in a white t-shirt and the khaki cargo pants he always favored back in Starling. "I keep forgetting how sneaky you are. Come on, let's go. The best stuff will be gone if we wait too long."

The market - an actual market, not a grocery store as Oliver had expected - was a hodgepodge of tables under makeshift sunshades, pickup trucks, blankets on the ground, even donkeys, all laden down with baskets or crates of produce, bread or flowers, haphazardly arranged in the open area near the parking lot they had parked in yesterday. It stretched all the way down to the docks, where people were selling their catch right off the boats; or cheeses, olives, and various prepared foods out of food trucks or carts.

The parked in the same spot as before. Oliver deliberately fell a few steps behind Felicity as she checked her list, muttering to herself. He wanted to hang back and just watch her in her element, letting himself be enchanted by the woman she had become.

She was apparently quite well known to many of the vendors, if the enthusiastic cries of "Ali! kali̱méra, Ali!" where anyting to go by. And well liked, too. She was welcomed wherever she went, often with kisses to her hand, and in a few cases kisses on the cheek from some of the older men. Everywhere she stopped she was offered tastes of fruit, cheeses and breads.

It was during one of those stops that Oliver had an epiphany, right out of the blue, and for no discernible reason. He would think about it later, even discuss it with Felicity, but he never quite figured out why it was that particular moment when he finally realized what he'd suspected - and done his best to ignore - for quite some time now.

He was irrevocably, totally, hopelessly in love with Felicity Smoak.

He almost laughed out loud. It seemed so obvious to him now, and explained so many things; why he was able to let Thea go so easily - she was safer as far away from him as possible - but couldn't do the same for Felicity; why he made a deal with the devil - Amanda Waller - for information on where to find her; why he had traveled across the world to do just that; and why he was prepared to uproot his entire life, just to be with her. He told himself it was to make sure she was safe, but if that were the only reason, he would never have tried to find her, let alone follow her here.

That kind of stupid could kill a man, he thought, borrowing an expression of Thea's. How could he have been so blind, and for so long?

He watched her bite into a fresh fig, and heard her make a sound he really didn't want anyone but him to hear, ever.

"Taste this, Oliver," she moaned, holding out the fig, freezing suddenly when her eyes found his. "Oliver?" She frowned a little. "Are you OK? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Actually, I think I'm finally seeing things clearly," he said softly, approaching her and reaching for her wrist. He guided the fig to his mouth, taking a bite from the fruit right out of her fingers, never taking his eyes off her. Her frown deepened at his cryptic remark, but he continued speaking before she could comment on it. "There's something I need to take care of. Would you mind continuing without me? I'll find you when I am done."

"Uh...OK." She was confused. "I'll be down by the boats. I need some fish and cheese, and then we can head back."

He watched her walk away, and then made a bee-line for the middle aged woman standing on a shaded corner of the marketplace, her donkey carrying baskets crammed with all manner of different flowers. "How much for the flowers?" He gestured with his hand to indicate he wanted all of them.

Fortunately for him, she spoke some fractured English. "All flowers?" she repeated, her face brightening. He nodded, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. She named a figure that meant absolutely nothing to him, and he handed over double the amount she'd mentioned.

"Could you deliver them to the taverna down the coast, please?" He gestured in that general direction, hoping she knew what he meant. Not surprisingly, she did. It was the only taverna in that direction.

"Nai," she said. "i̱ amerikanikí̱, yes?"

Before he could answer in the affirmative, she had called over a sullen looking youth leaning against the wall behind her. A brief discussion ensued, some money changed hands, and the kid took the donkey and started leading it to the road leading to the taverna. "Your lady love?" She turned back to him with a romantic gleam in her eyes.

"Yes." He smiled widely, unable to help himself and wanting to share. "My love. My life."

She smiled even wider than he had, and rattled off a few words in Greek. One of them he recognized as ef̱charistó̱, meaning thank you.

"Ef̱charistó̱," he repeated with a wave, before turning away to look for the love of his life.

He found her just as she was turning away from a trestle table laden with ice-filled tubs of fish. "Calamari." She held up a bag that looked like it contained squid.

He made a face and opened one of the totes so she could place the bag in it. "They taste a lot better than they look," he remarked as the slimy mess disappeared out of sight into the tote.

"And you haven't even had Maria's calamari yet." She smiled up at him. "Are you done? Because I'm done."

He nodded.

"Let's go home, then." She slung one of the bulging totes over her shoulder and they started to head back. "I'm dying for some of Maria's coffee."

Home. Hearing it filled him with a warm sense of belonging, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly understood the meaning of the word.

That was the moment he finally made it back from the island.


	10. Chapter 10

Maria was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee when they clattered in, laden down with shopping bags.

" _Mana mou_." Felicity heaved the bags up onto the long table. "This is my friend Oliver."

Oliver put his bags down as well. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." He walked over to her and holding out his hand.

Maria rose, taking it in both of hers and holding on to it while she gave him an appraising look, finally nodding her approval. "Yes. This is a good one."

Felicity narrowed her eyes, sensing that Maria was gearing up to play matchmaker again. "How can you tell just by looking at him?" she challenged her.

"It's in his eyes," she explained. "He's in love with you." She let his hand go. "And only a love-sick fool would do _that_ ," she added, pointing at the floor behind Felicity.

She turned around, and gasped. Ranged against the back wall were every bucket and plastic tub in the place, every one of them filled with flowers. Bunches of daisies, day lilies, delphiniums, carnations and sunflowers, as well as several she couldn't name, mingled in a cacophony of colors. There had to be enough flowers for every table in the restaurant, the bar, and every room of her house. It explained the grinning kid with the donkey they had passed on the road back to the taverna. She had assumed he had been delivering something to Maria.

"Oh, Oliver..." She turned back to find him shifting on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly. She couldn't be sure, but his cheeks might have been a little pink too. For a moment he looked like a teenage boy picking up his very first date.

"Thank you," she whispered, and saw the teenage boy replaced by the confident billionaire ex-playboy who had bought her a donkey-full of flowers.

"That's enough making the eyes at each other," Maria broke in, setting two mugs of Greek cappuccino on the kitchen table. "Sit. I made loukoumades and bougatsa." She placed the plate of pastries next to the mugs along with two napkins. "Eat. I need both of you to help me in the kitchen today, and then you need to find a place for all those flowers."

Felicity sat down at the end of the table. "I love loukoumades," she said reverently, picking up one of the golden, deep-fried balls of honey-drenched goodness and taking a bite.

"Great," she heard Oliver mutter under his breath as he sat down to her right. "She picks the one which will make for the stickiest fingers."

She looked at him questioningly and popped the last of the pastry into her mouth. She was about to lick her fingers when Oliver's hand shot out, catching her wrist.

"No," he said darkly. "No. Absolutely not. Use a napkin."

"What? No!" she protested, trying to pull her wrist out of his iron grip and wondering what the hell his problem was. "It's honey. It won't come off on a napkin. Besides licking the honey and cinnamon off your fingers is the best part!"

She slowly licked her lips. "Mmmm," she hummed cheekily, waving her sticky fingers temptingly at him.

He threw a quick look Maria's way. She was busy at one of the counters, doing something unpleasant to the squid Felicity had bought, her back to them. He drew her hand toward him and deliberately and sensuously sucked the honey off her finger and thumb before releasing her wrist.

Felicity was pretty sure her entire body was blushed. Surprised, all she could do was stare at him in shock, her mouth hanging open and her hand poised in mid air, exactly where he had left it. There was something incredibly arousing about being turned on against her will in what was essentially a public setting. Maria may have had her back to them, but she was standing right there.

Oliver darted another look at Maria's back before leaning toward her with a smug look on his face. "From now on, every time you do that, I will repay you in kind," he whispered with quiet menace. "Whether there are other people in the room or not."

Felicity was very glad she was sitting down. If she hadn't been, she'd probably be in a heap on the floor by now, her legs having given out under her. And that was only a slight exaggeration.

They ate their breakfast in silence, their eyes doing all the talking. That they managed to share threats, affection, and even basic questions and answers with just their eyes spoke of how attuned to each other they had become over the years they had worked together.

All too soon it was time to get cracking and help Maria with lunch preparations.

She had finished cutting up the squid, and had it soaking in buttermilk in the fridge. She had Felicity mix the flour and spices for later - the calamari would be fried up as they were ordered, ensuring the best taste and crispness - and gave Oliver the task of cutting the stems carefully out of the small red peppers so they could be stuffed with herbed goat cheese.

They worked side by side, elbows - and occasionally hips - bumping. Oliver was still slowly working on de-stemming and de-seeding the peppers, and Felicity had finished the dredging flour for the calamari, had mixed the room temperature goat cheese with fresh herbs and was stuffing the peppers faster than he could clean them, tucking them upright in a shallow baking dish for later roasting. It didn't help their progress that Oliver was frequently pausing in his task to stare at her as she waited for each pepper, facing him with her hip propped against the counter.

She was about to hurry him along when Maria appeared behind him.

"Stop making eyes at my daughter, _agóri mou_ ," she said sternly, smacking him smartly on the backside with a large wooden spoon and making him jump. "You're falling behind. Save the mooning for later." On that note, she put the spoon down, picked up a basket of silverware and left the kitchen.

Felicity snorted, looking back at Oliver to find him frozen, a paring knife in one hand and a dainty pepper in the other, his mouth hanging open. "Did she...did she just spank me with a wooden spoon?" he stuttered, giving her a wide-eyed incredulous look.

"Welcome to Maria," Felicity bit back her laughter. "It means you're part of the family. You should be honored, that was pretty quick."

"But I'm..." He stopped, apparently rendered speechless.

"But you're a big, bad, scary vigilante?" she continued for him, lowering her voice and darting a look toward the door. "She doesn't know that, and even if she did, I don't think it would matter. You could be all arrowed up and heavily armed, and she'd still smack your butt if you dawdled. Get used to it. She takes her cooking very seriously."

"I'm scared," he said, and she could tell he was only half joking. "What does 'agori moo' mean, anyway?"

"It means 'my boy'." She turned her face away from him so he wouldn't see the grin splitting her face in half. The thought of tiny Maria putting a little of the fear of God into six-foot-plus, scary, frequently lethal - at least in the past - Bratva Captain Oliver Queen, was too much to keep a straight face over.

>>>\---------->

The first customers were arriving just as they were finishing up with the flowers. They had used Maria's whole stash of jam jars to make up arrangements for the tables, and several wine jugs for the rest. There were enough of both for Felicity to have bunches of flowers for every room of her house, even the bathrooms.

"I can't believe you did this," Felicity took two jars of flowers from the tray Oliver was carrying for her and placed them on two of the tables. "I've never gotten this many flowers at once before."

This time, when Oliver smiled his patented enigmatic smile, it wasn't enigmatic anymore.

When they were done with the flowers, they had a light lunch of mezes on the taverna patio with the other diners, sampling tirokafteri - made by Felicity herself - crispy calamari and the stuffed peppers still warm from the oven, drizzled with olive oil and a balsamic vinegar reduction.

They were lingering over coffee when Felicity decided to play a little Russian roulette. She asked Chrysoula to bring her a small plate of loukoumades, throwing Oliver a challenging look as she did. His face remained carefully expressionless but he leaned back, hooking his elbow over the back of the chair. Challenge accepted, apparently.

She ate her dessert, slowly and thoroughly licking her fingers after each one, humming, at times with exaggerated lustfulness, her eyes on Oliver's the whole time. Though his face remained impassive during her display, the icy-hot intensity in is eyes slowly grew, reaching dangerously predatory levels when she added insult to injury by swiping her finger through the syrup that had collected on the plate. He was preternaturally still, the only muscle visibly moving was the one ticking in his jaw.

"Let's go for a walk," he said conversationally when there wasn't a drop of syrup left on the plate.

Her heart leaped in excitement as she stood, following him out of the taverna and wondering what he had planned for her.

>>>\---------->

It turned out the answer was nothing. Apparently he had nothing planned for her. They walked down the beach in companionable silence, their fingers occasionally brushing, but that was all. Felicity was quivering in anticipation, expecting at any moment to be pushed down into the sand behind this rock or that and ravished, but they just kept wandering until the beach ended and they had to turn around. By the time they were nearing the taverna again, she was so tightly wound she thought she would shatter if he so much as touched her.

"Felicity?"

Finally! She almost screamed. "Yes, Oliver?" She turned to face him.

"Can I move in with you?"

Her impressive brain, which never did this around anyone but him, froze. When he waved a hand in front of her face, she realized she was just staring at him and hadn't said anything yet. "What?" she asked stupidly. The transition from waiting for him to ravage her - or something - to having a serious conversation, gave her whiplash.

"Can I move in with you?" he repeated.

Her brain kicked into gear again. "I thought you already had."

"No..." He shook his head and looked out over the ocean. "God, why am I so bad at this?"

"Not enough practice?"

He laughed, looking back at her. "None whatsoever, actually. What I meant to say was I've decided to stay here, as in move here, and I'm asking you if I can live with you, or if I should get my own place."

Oh, she mouthed silently. "You...do you want to live with me?" she asked, suddenly insecure and hesitant.

He gave her a look. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

"Right. Of course."

It wasn't like his request was unexpected, but now that the moment was upon her it was...monumental. Daunting. Downright scary, actually.

"Felicity?" he prompted her. "My ego is starting to take a hit over here."

"Mmmm?" Lost in her thoughts, it took her a while to realize he was waiting for an answer. "Oh! Yes, of course! Of course you can move in with me, Oliver."

They stared at each other, speechless, smiles growing on their faces. "Holy shit," he said unsteadily, grinning. "We're moving in together. Why am I not more freaked out about this?"

"Because when it's right, it's right?"

"That must be it." He reached for her and reeled her in. "That must be it," he repeated softly. He dipped his head to kiss her, but pulled back just before their lips met. "Have I told you I love you yet?" he asked, frowning down at her.

She played along. "Ummm...let me think," she mused, looking up into the air. "No, I don't believe you have." Her eyes dropped back to his.

He just looked at her for a beat, a ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his lips. "I will," he whispered, as his mouth closed in on hers again.

Lunch was winding down when they returned to the taverna, sneaking past the kitchen so that they wouldn't get roped in to help with dishes or something.

Just as Felicity was about to start up the stairs, Oliver's hands fell roughly on her hips, guiding her quickly into the alcove beside the stairs. Before she knew what was going on, her back was against the wall and he was pulling her dress up and slipping his hand into the waistband of her panties to cup her cheek.

"Oliver!" she whispered harshly, clawing at his arm in an attempt to get his hand out of her pants. "What the hell are you doing? Somebody could come back here at any moment! There's a storage closet right there!"

"You should have thought of that before eating those honey balls the way you did," he hissed against her mouth, trapping her wrists in one hand, pinning them against her chest, and her against the wall.

"First of all, they're called 'loukoumades'," she hissed back, "and secondly _oh my god_ ," she moaned, writhing against the wall as he attacked her neck.

"Not so loud." His voice was low, smug. "You're going to attract attention."

"Then stop...oh god...please..."

He smirked. "I warned you, Felicity," he murmured darkly, his breath hot on the tender skin of her throat. "You only have yourself to blame."

She as about beg some more, when the thing she was most afraid of happened. "Allie?" Maria's voice called out from the kitchen.

"Oliver!" she croaked, trying to twist out of his grip. "Get _off_ me!"

Oliver did not oblige. Instead..."We're back here," he called out.

Felicity was absolutely certain she was going to have a heart attack. She squirmed wildly, managing only a few incoherent squeaks, forcing Oliver to press her more firmly against the wall with his body to keep her still.

"Oh." Maria raised her eyebrows. "I wanted to ask you for help with the dishes, but I see you are busy. Will you do them later, Allie?"

Felicity, acutely aware of Oliver's hand, still down the back of her panties and stroking a circle on her right cheek - mercifully out of sight of Maria's observant eye - could barely form a coherent reply. Her yes came out stuttered and breathy.

Maria's eyebrows crawled even higher on her forehead, but she just rolled her eyes and went back to the kitchen.

Felicity had closed her eyes and tipped her head back expecting Oliver to go right back to nibbling at her neck, when he took a step back, pulling his hand out and moving away from her. No longer held up by him, she let herself slide slowly down the wall, collapsing into an ungainly heap on the floor.

"W...what?" she stammered, looking up at him incredulously.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I leave you hanging?" He looked down at her, feigning innocence. "So did you, earlier, when you were having dessert. Too bad we can't always have what we want."

"You _bastard_!" she shrieked, kicking out at him with one of her legs.

"Take it upstairs, children!" Maria yelled from the kitchen, "or I'm coming out with the spoon!"

That got him. Oliver's eyes widened comically. "Shiiiit!" he hissed, hauling her to her feet and tossing her over his shoulder, tearing up the stairs as she hung there, upside down and laughing.


	11. Chapter 11

The woman who was Felicity Smoak again uncorked a bottle of her favorite Greek red and took two of her new wine glasses down from the kitchen cabinet. They were huge, gorgeous crystal glasses, paper-thin with long, slender stems. More importantly, they were a gift from Oliver.

She had spotted them in an antique store in Athens, and had been instantly drawn to them, fascinated by their resemblance to soap bubbles, delicate, clear and incredibly shiny. Oliver had managed to buy them for her without her noticing, surprising her with them when they got back to the island.

They had made the trip to Athens to pick up his belongings, which he'd had shipped from Starling, buying a pick-up truck to cart his stuff - and any other supplies they couldn't get on the island - back to the taverna.

"It's not a bad idea to have something other than your Vespa," he'd told her when she suggested they rent something instead. "Also, it will save us the hassle of returning it to the mainland."

Felicity had rolled her eyes. Only a gazillionaire would _buy_ a car just to avoid having to make the effort to return a rental. She had to admit though, it would come in handy. Some necessities were not available on the island, and required a trip to the mainland. In the past, she'd just asked someone who was already going to bring back whatever she needed.

She carefully put the glasses on the counter next to the bottle, and turned to observe the interior of her home for a moment.

Their home.

The signs of Oliver's presence in her life were everywhere. He had infiltrated every part of her, every room in her - their - house (she had to keep reminding herself it was no longer hers alone). His toiletries in the bathroom, his clothes in the closets and drawers. His keys and a handful of small change dropped carelessly on the island, his running shoes - and his dirty sweat socks, _again_ , dammit - in a pile by the door, a jacket slung over the back of the couch.

Their lives had become entwined - inextricably, as far as she was concerned - to the point where if someone removed all traces of him from the place, she'd feel like a piece of her soul was missing. He'd even left his mark on the decor, contributing a set of pale blue pottery vases - the color reminded him of her eyes - "for all the flowers I'm going to buy for you," a framed charcoal drawing of her he'd bought from a street artist, and other bits and pieces he'd acquired over the past month, mostly with her in mind.

Oliver did almost everything with her in mind. She'd never felt more cherished, cared for and protected. And fortunate. Incredibly fortunate. Her life was the stuff of romance novels. Oliver _himself_ was the stuff of romance novels, tall, broad-shouldered and strong, beyond handsome, and absolutely besotted with her. He could protect her, would die for her and kill for her. _Had_ killed for her.

She shivered, remembering Count Vertigo, and pushed the painful memory out of her mind as quickly as she pushed away from the counter. She did not like the thought of the Count, or any of the darker memories of her past, tainting the life she had built here, and continued to build with Oliver.

Picking up the bottle in one hand and the glasses, carefully crossed at the stem, in the other, she left their home for the very short walk to the beach - calling out a greeting to the Two Spiros as she made her way through the taverna - to watch the sun setting over the Aegean as she almost always did. Only these days, she watched it with Oliver.

Sitting in the sand, bare-footed and casual in faded, distressed jeans and a light knit khaki sweater that clung to him in all the right places, he was staring out at the setting sun, his arms resting on his bent knees. 

She stopped at the bottom of the path leading from the taverna and observed him unnoticed for a moment.

He was so different from the person who sat down in that same spot one month ago to the day. He'd lost his unhealthy pallor; his skin was now the color of pale honey, making his eyes pop, impossibly bright and blue. His hair was longer and starting to lighten in the relentless Greek sun. The shadows under his eyes were a thing of the past, and his expression...she couldn’t describe it. He looked like a different person these days, well rested and at peace.

He was happy. The day he asked her if he could move in with her was the day she had first seen him truly smile, and by 'truly' she meant a face splitting, eye-creasing, teeth-flashing, dimple-deepening smile. A truly free, unburdened smile. It had momentarily robbed her of her breath, not to mention her power to speak, and continued to do so to this day. It became her latest Oliver addiction too.

She frowned suddenly, focusing intently on his face. Now that she was paying closer attention, the look of perpetual contentment he'd worn since then was currently missing. He looked more like the tortured Oliver of the past than the carefree Oliver he had become, but she refused to let her heart sink and doubt to creep in, and started purposefully toward him.

He looked up when she stepped between his feet, his face clearing like the sky after a storm, and flashed her that breath-stealing smile. She handed him the glasses and sank to her knees between his legs, pouring the wine as he held the goblets out for her.

"You look preoccupied." She kept her tone casual. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"Felicity," he said sternly as he set the glasses in the sand beside him, then took the bottle away from her and did the same. He reached for her hands. "I'm not having second thoughts. This is my home. _You_ are my home. I'm just...I still feel guilty from time to time. Like I don't deserve this, like I should be back in Starling, protecting the city."

Felicity shifted and crossed her legs, scooting a little closer between his legs, her knees touching the backs of his thighs. She squeezed his hands.

"Oliver. You deserve this more than anyone. You've given the city so much already, almost everything you had. You've lost so much. You have the right to have a life and love of your own, and to be happy. You just have to let go and give yourself permission. It's not like you have to hang up the hood permanently; if Starling City needs you again, we'll go back for a visit, and then come home when it's over. It doesn't have to be one or the other. It might be more difficult in Starling, but here, you have a blank slate. You can be Oliver Queen, and become the Arrow when the Justice League needs your help."

"The Justice League?" He raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"It's what I call Roy, Digg and Laurel in my head," she explained, pulling her hands out of his, reaching for the glasses, and handing him one. "Now enough about all that." She lifted her glass and tapped it against his, enjoying the deep chime it made. "To us," she said, "and to many more sunsets together."

"To us," he whispered, overcome by his emotions. He watched her take a sip, drinking her in along with his wine.

"Mmmm," she hummed, looking down at the garnet liquid. "This is really good. And It would be even better if I could see the sunset a the same time," she added as an afterthought. "Hold this for a moment."

He took the glass and waited as she uncrossed her legs and turned, settling herself between his legs and burrowing back into him, taking back her glass. He put his down and wrapped his arms around her, much more interested in having them full of warm, scented Felicity, than he was in drinking an admittedly excellent red. He could have wine anytime, but...He stopped and smiled into her hair when he remembered he could have her anytime too, now.

"Thank you," he breathed into the the slender column of her golden neck, not aware he had spoken out loud until she asked him what he was thanking her for.

"For being you," he replied with intensity, his eyes on the horizon. "For putting up with me, for giving me more than I ever gave you, for not waiting for me to live your life, for running away from me, for not sending me away when I found you, for not pushing me to talk when I wasn't ready, for trusting me, for loving me, for..."

"Ok, I get the message." She laughed, but it was a shaky laugh, and he could tell she was deeply moved. She tried to turn so she could look at him, but he tightened his arms around her like steel bands, preventing her. He thought he might fall apart if he looked into her eyes right now. Too many feels, as Thea would say.

"I don't think you do," he countered quietly. "Not the complete message, anyway. It will probably take me my whole life to get that across."

She turned her head, nudging his jaw with her nose and then kissing it. Her hair, freed from the decorated chopsticks that held it up, brushed against his arm, licking against his bare skin like soft, cool flames.

"You'd better get right on it, then," she murmured, her hot breath on his throat going straight to his loins.

They sat in silence as the sun sank, streaking the sky and the waves with burnished gold, until the weight of words unsaid became crushing and he knew he had to speak before he completely lost his mind.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. This was it. He'd never been so terrified in his life. "Felicity?"

"Mmmm?" She stirred sleepily in his arms.

"S 'agapó̱."

She froze, and for a moment he thought he'd said it wrong. This time when she twisted in his arms, he let her. She settled on her knees again, facing him.

"Did you just...?"

"Yes." He smiled at her expression, her eyes filled with a blend of astonishment and hope. "At least I hope so. S 'agapó̱, Felicity. I love you."

She just stared at him.

"Maria," he said, answering her unspoken question. "I asked her how to say it."

"Say it again," she ordered him, taking his face in her hands.

Whatever she wanted. Always. "I love you, Felicity" he repeated, and let the words set him free.


	12. Chapter 12

Dear John,

I found her. I'm sorry it took me so long to get in touch, but a lot has been going on.

I won't be bringing her back after all. She has a good life here, and she doesn't want to leave, at least for now. Which means I'm not coming back either. You once said love was about finding someone who is already the right fit; it took me way too long, but I finally figured out it was her. She's the one, Digg, and I was too stupid to see it. Thankfully it wasn't too late.

I have no idea where we go from here; all I know is my place is with her. Where she goes, I go. I guess that means the city will have to do without me from now on. Felicity has helped me see that I have given enough, that I deserve to have a life of my own, and I think I'm finally ready to believe that, though no doubt I will need reminding from time to time. 

Starling is in good hands with you, Laurel and Roy, but if you ever need me, or us as Felicity just remined me - she's looking over my shoulder as I write - we will be there.

Thank you, Digg. For everything.

Take care,  
Oliver

PS: Felicity here. As usual, Oliver forgets the important stuff: pictures. I want pictures of Emily. And I'd like you to bring them to me, in person. In fact, when she's old enough to travel, you're all welcome. 'Till we meet again, love, F.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the end of the story as I had initially conceived it, but as someone who likes to know what happens after "The End", I had always intended on continuing to explore their lives in Greece in the form of outtakes. Which I did from here on out.


	13. Choices and Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver has a surprise for Felicity

"Where are we going?"

Oliver sighed, turning off the main road - which was little more than a two lane dirt track - and onto the even smaller dirt track that wound up into the mountains. "That's the fifth time you've asked me that. What makes you think this will be the time I tell you?"

"I am counting on you a) getting distracted and blurting out the answer before you even know you're doing it or b) telling me just to shut me up."

He threw a sideways glance at her. She was slouched in the passenger seat, her bare feet with their mother of pearl toenails propped up on the dashboard. Her pretty pink sundress was pooled around her hips revealing long tanned legs.

"There are about five other ways I could shut you up before resorting to telling you, Felicity," he pointed out.

"Oh, really?" She was striving for disinterest and failing. "Do tell."

"Well, for one I could gag you..."

"With what?" she interrupted, looking around the cab of the truck.

"...with your panties," he finished without pausing, throwing her a challenging look.

"You're assuming they are big enough to serve as a gag," she countered without missing a beat. "I should be offended."

"They only need to be big enough to wad up into a ball and stuff in your mouth."

She paused. "Oh."

That shut her up, he thought fondly, darting another look at her. A pink flush had bloomed on her cheeks and her plush lips were parted. The tip of her tongue darted briefly out between them. Another arrow for his things-that-might-turn-Flicity-on quiver.

"What about getting distracted?" she asked, clearly moving on to a safer subject.

He turned to her again, finding her looking at him. The high ponytail, the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks made her make-up free face look very young. "Do I strike you as someone who is easily distracted?" he asked her, looking back at the road.

"That depends," she said saucily. Moments later, he felt her hot little hand on his thigh, sliding between his legs, her pinky finger grazing his dick.

"Felicity." He tensed.

She affected an innocent tone. "Oliver."

"Are you sure it's wise to distract me on this particular stretch of road?" He jerked his chin toward the passenger window. "Look out."

She removed her hand, pressed her nose to the window and then yelped, sliding across the seat and pressing into Oliver's side hanging on to his arm. "That's, uh...we're very close to the edge. In fact, this whole road is very narrow. What if a car comes the other way?"

"I know for a fact that won't happen. And anyway, the road gets larger in fairly regular intervals, for just such an eventuality. At worst we would have to reverse for twenty feet or so."

Looking up the hill, Oliver could already see the house that they were heading for, but only because he knew it was there.

Unlike the majority of houses on the island, this one wasn't painted a blinding white. Instead, it was a light tan, blending in with the surrounding scenery, which constituted mostly of sand colored rocks and sparse vegetation. Hanging baskets and clusters of terra-cotta pots of different sizes filled with flowers provided the only splashes of color. The sprawling home covered the top of the highest point on the island. Numerous terraces hung over steep drops, and the views were out of this world, especially from the roof.

Felicity would love it.

He rounded the last corner and drove between a couple of very large boulders, into the open space at the front of the house. Pulling over to the side, he turned off the engine and got out of the car.

Felicity opened her door, dropped her sandals on the ground and slid down from the passenger seat. "Uh...Oliver?" She slipped her feet into them. "What are we doing here?"

He lifted a hamper with a folded quilt on top out of the back of the truck. "I wanted to escape the heat for a bit. It's s lot cooler and breezier up here. We're going to relax, swim a little, have lunch and whatever else we might feel like having." He winked at her. "Follow me."

"Won't the people who live here have a problem with that?" she asked, trotting along behind him.

He led her around the side of the house."The place is empty."

"That doesn't make it ok to trespass... _holy shit_!"

He turned to find her gaping at the view, just as he had expected. "Pretty amazing, right?" He watched the rapt expression on her face closely.

"I'm not sure that 'amazing' even adequately covers it," she said reverently. "You can see the town from here. And is that the taverna? Oh my god, it is! Oh Oliver, I bet you could see the whole island from the roof! Is the roof like mine?"

She stopped dead. "Is that an infinity pool? I love that is is the same color as the flagstones. It looks so much more natural than aqua, don't you think?"

While Felicity was babbling, Oliver unfolded the quilt and spread it out on the stones, setting the hamper on it. He kicked off his shoes and was taking off his t-shirt when she turned around.

"Oliver? This is gorgeous and all, buy I am not completely comfortable hanging out at someone else's house. Are the owners ok with this?" She was looking around nervously, as if she expected someone to show up suddenly.

"Felicity. There is only one owner," he reassured her, sitting down cross legged on the quilt, "and he is absolutely fine with it."

She wouldn't let it go. "How do you know? Did you talk to him?"

"You could say that," Oliver uncorked a bottle of red.

"What do you mean, 'you could say that'?" She crossed her arms and looked at him sternly. "You either did, or you didn't. Which is it?"

"Fe-li-ci-ty." He put the bottle on the stones and stood, walking over to her and taking her hands. "I'm the owner."

"You...What?" Her jaw dropped and she stared at him incredulously.

"Which part of 'I'm the owner' are you having trouble understanding? Ow!" He winced exaggeratedly and rubbed the spot on his arm where she had punched him.

"You _bought_ it?" She looked uncertain all of a sudden. "Are you moving out?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "For someone so smart, you sure can be clueless sometimes. I bought this for us. I'm hoping you'll agree to live here. With me. But if you prefer to keep living at the taverna, that's where we'll stay. We can come up here when we want to get away, when we want a swim, and I can come up here when I want to work out. That's one of the reasons I bought it; there's a room that was designed to be a gym. There's also a lap pool around the other side."

Running, even combined with whatever elements of parkour he could work in on a landscape of olive groves, fields, hills and rocks, was not enough for Oliver. He might not be an active vigilante anymore, but he wasn't fool enough to think his past would never catch up with him. He wanted - needed to be in top form, in case it did, in case his former team ever needed his help.

In case Felicity ever needed protecting.

"My point is, it's your choice," he continued. "I live where you live."

She bit her lower lip. "What about the taverna?"

"What about it? It's yours." He smiled. "You're allowed to own more than one house, you know," he teased her gently. "We can spend the night there after one of the taverna's wild parties so we don't have to drive home, or you can use it as a bolt hole when I get on your nerves and you need to get away from me - as long as you understand that you have 48 hours away from me before I come looking for you. We have billions. We can afford a couple of houses."

"No, Oliver, _you_ have billions," she remarked, looking out over the incredible view again.

He felt a sudden surge of anger. "Hey," he said sharply, reaching for her chin and turning her face back to him, forcing her to look at him. She did, wide-eyed and startled. "We have billions. What's mine is yours, and don't you ever forget it."

She just stared at him.

"Felicity, you're starting to freak me out. Say something."

"Ok."

"Ok, what?"

"Ok, _Sir_ ," she deadpanned, the corners of her mouth twitching with barely repressed mirth.

"Cute. And I like it. But that's not what I meant."

"Ok, we can live here together."

"Really?" He grinned, feeling giddy as a kid on Christmas morning.

"Really." She broke into the brightest, sunniest smile he had ever seen on her. "Oh my god, Oliver, I can't believe it!" She jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips and kissed him soundly. His hands automatically went under her dress and palmed her cotton covered ass. "This place is too good to be true!" She kissed him again, then unwrapped her legs and slid slowly down the front of him, making him bite back a groan. "Show me around. That wine should really breathe before we drink it."

"Ok, but first, we need to get a few more things out of the truck," He towed her along behind him, taking a couple of pillows out of the back and handing them to her. Reaching in again, he pulled out a very large sunshade which he propped on his shoulder, and wrought iron base.

"We're going to need shade for the food and wine, and for us later on," he said, leading the way back to the terrace to set it up.

>>>\------------->

"It's a dream come true," Felicity sighed as she walked the perimeter of the roof. "This is practically a whole other living space. And a hot tub on the roof?" she moaned, and he wished it were full of water so they could get in right now. Then again, they would be skinny dipping in the pool as soon as he was done showing her around their new home. He watched her pad past the fire pit to the enormous gas grill, running her fingers over the brushed steel.

"Wouldn't it be great to put a bed up here? We could watch the stars. They should be pretty amazing, so far away from the town lights." She laced her fingers together and pressed her joined hands to her lips a she stared across the ocean to the faint purple smudge of the mainland on the horizon.

He watched her profile as she stared into the distance, an expression of serene contentment on her face, wisps of baby-soft hair brushing against her cheeks in an unseen breeze. It made him ridiculously happy. He couldn't wait for them to move in. He didn't care where he lived, not really, as long as he was with her; but starting out together in a home that was new to both of them added a whole other dimension to his happiness.

"Felicity." He held out his hand. "Let me show you the rest of the house. I'd like to take a dip before we eat."

She reached for his hand, tangling her fingers with his. "I didn't bring a bathing suit," she said, and her adorable cluelessness charmed him.

"Felicity." He dipped his head and leveled a look at her. "We don't need bathing suits."

"Oh." She flushed. "Right."

He showed her the rest of the house as she babbled enthusiastically, making plans, suggesting paint colors and placement of furniture.

There were four bedrooms which meant plenty of room for guests, top of the line appliances in the kitchen, and to Felicity's very visible excitement, a sunken tub large enough for two in the master bath, in addition to the enormous shower set behind a dividing wall that did not reach the ceiling. In addition to the gym, there was a windowless den, and an airy library complete with built in bookcases.

"Dibs on this room." Felicity bent down to peer in one of the cabinets below the shelves. "Plenty of storage for spare parts and reference materials." She babbled happily. "It's north facing, so it'll be cooler. My computers will be happy. And so will I, if I get to work facing this view..."

"Come, on there's one more thing I have to show you." Oliver's hand went to the small of her back as he guided he out of the room. He'd been saving one of the the guest rooms for last, because of what was in it.

"I hope you'll be happy about this." He pushed the door open, keeping a close watch on her expression.

It took her a few seconds before she realized what she was looking at. Then her mouth parted over a silent 'oh' and her eyes welled up. For a split second he thought he'd made a mistake, but then she was turning toward him and leaping into his arms.

"You sent for my stuff!" she cried. "But how did you find...wait, ARGUS, right?"

He nodded. "They are really thorough when they're looking for someone."

"With my stuff and what the previous owners left behind, we should be able to get this place livable fairly quickly. After that, we'll have a better idea of what else we need." She hugged him tightly. "Oh, Oliver, that was so sweet of you. How did I ever get so lucky?"

His throat tightened painfully, and he was temporarily robbed of speech. _He_ was the lucky one. He'd almost lost her, and would spend the rest of his life doing what he could to make her happy.

>>>\------------->

"Tell me," she asked when they were back on the west terrace by the pool. "When did you do all this?"

He reached for her hips and reeled her in. "Well, I wasn't always out fishing with Vageli, or helping Costas with his construction work. Occasionally I'd play hooky instead."

He started pulling up her dress and she lifted her arms, allowing him to strip it off her. She was bra-less, as she so often was these days, and he reached for one of her breasts, cupping it and brushing his thumb over her nipple, watching her shudder in response. Then he slipped his hands down the back of her panties, kneading her ass briefly before dropping to a crouch and pulling them down her legs.

"So they were in on it?" she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder for balance, lifting each leg for him as he removed them. "That explains the way Costas has been looking at me. He must have been dying to talk. He's such a gossip, I'm surprised he was able to keep his mouth shut."

"I may have threatened him a little," Oliver said, standing up again.

"You didn't...you didn't go all hood on him, did you?" she said worriedly, reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

"No." He let her unbutton them. "He drinks when we are out on the boat. I told him that if he said a word to anyone, I'd tell his wife."

He watched as she sank to her knees, laughing, and stripped his jeans and underwear off him, trying not to think about what she could be doing to him from down there. Instead, he held out his hand and helped her to her feet, leading her to the pool and down the steps into the cool water.

It wasn't a big pool, certainly not enough to really swim in. It was more for floating around and cooling off. Taking Felicity from behind at the end of the pool where the water slipped silently over the edge, with nothing but a steep slope beneath them and half the island, along with the vast expanse of blue-green ocean spread out before them as far a the eyes could see, was just an added bonus. Making her cry out her pleasure into that vast open space was the icing on the cake and the cherry on top.

They were lying in the shade, on the quilts and a pile of pillows, their clothes and the remnants of lunch pushed off to the side. Oliver was on his back, dead to the world, his chest rising and falling gently under Felicity's cheek, an arm curled protectively around her.

Floating on a cloud of contentment, she listened to the silence around her, broken only by the hum of insects and the soughing of the wind. Beneath the other ear, the strong, steady beat of her love's heart lulled her body, if not her mind. Thought she was sated - in more ways than one - and drowsy, she couldn't seem to join Oliver in sleep. Her mind was spinning, too full of the happenings of the day.

So much had changed in the past few months. She'd gone from being a soul in exile, making a new life for herself alone, to being committed to a relationship she had never expected, and about to make a home with the man she loved above all else.

A brief flash of apprehension had frozen her when Oliver had presented her with the house and told her he'd hoped to live with her in it. In a very sobering way, it made the relationship real. Oliver would no longer be living with her in the space she had created, they would be living in a home they had created together. It had been a sobering realization, but also a sign of Oliver's commitment to her. To them.

Despite her apparent hesitation, it hadn't occurred to her to say no. Not for a second. She may be a bundle of nerves at the prospect of taking this next, huge, step, but she knew how to embrace change. She'd been rolling with the punches - metaphorically speaking - since she'd been seven years old.

There had been no choice to make, she thought as sleep finally claimed her.


	14. Roses and Russians

Felicity pried open the lid of the paint can with a screwdriver, letting out a yelp when the lid flipped and struck the newspaper covered table, splattering her cut-off denim shorts and bare midriff with bright malachite green paint.

"Damn." She dropped the screwdriver and dabbed at the paint specks with a rag.

It was a pretty pointless exercise; she simply spread the stains further over her skin. She didn't even bother with her shorts. They were her painting shorts anyway, already speckled with the vibrant blue and blinding white she had painted the taverna with, and the deep blood red she had just tested on about two feet of one of the walls in the den.

The doorbell chimed, and Felicity frowned. Oliver was out on a run, and even if he were back so soon, he had a key, or could come in through the open terrace windows. It must be someone else. Wiping her hands on the rag, she left the den, stopping short when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror over the hall table by the front door.

Her nose was shiny with perspiration, which made her glasses slip no matter how often she pushed them up, and there was a smear of red paint on the tip of her nose. That morning, in a fit of whimsy, she had tied her hair into pigtails, low behind her ears, and in addition to the short shorts, she was wearing one of Oliver's old white dress shirts tied bulkily beneath her breasts. She quickly undid the shirt tails and let them fall, but that was worse; it looked like she wasn't wearing any pants. She compromised by tying the shirt tails around her hips, and rubbed fruitlessly at her nose, succeeding only in making it pink.

A loud knock sounded, making her jump. She looked through the peephole Oliver had insisted on installing, even more insistently making Felicity promise to use it before opening the door to anyone, and groaned at the sight of the two men standing on the front steps.

"Not again," she muttered, reaching for the knob. She thought she'd seen the last of these two. "I'm not selling the taverna, gentlemen," she said firmly the moment the door was open. "I thought I'd made it clear that was my final answer."

"Miss Apsa..." The one called Papadopoulos started.

"It's Smoak now."

She didn't bother explaining that she'd had it changed 'legally' - meaning she'd done it herself - and was now Allison Felicity Smoak. That way the people who knew her in Greece could still call her Allie, and she could tell people that she used to go by her middle name, which could explain why Oliver called her Felicity. She hadn't yet had to explain to anyone why she changed her last name - her prepared story was that she'd changed her name back to her father's last name.

"Miss Smoak," Mr. Ivanov, the oiliest of the two, spoke unctuously. "Permit me to say you grow lovelier every time I see you. Greece truly suits you."

"Thank you, Mr. Ivanov." She was firm. "But I am not changing my mind."

The snake affected a wounded expression and started laying it on with a trowel. "I can assure you, your beauty exists independently of my desire to acquire your property on behalf of my associates, who were very insistent that I present their latest offer to you. Please allow me to do that. I think you will be very interested, it's an excellent offer."

She hesitated.

"Please, Miss Smoak, spare me from having to tell my associates that I failed to even get a chance to talk to you," he implored her. "If you still say no, I will walk away without argument. As long as I can tell my associates that I presented you with their offer, my duty will be fulfilled."

She rolled her eyes and stepped back, letting them in.

>>>\--------------->

"My associates strongly recommend you take this deal, Miss Smoak." Mr. Ivanov took a sip of his retsina. "They are men accustomed to getting what they want, and you won't get a better..."

He stopped suddenly, all the color draining from his face as he caught sight of something beyond Felicity. Mr. Papadopoulos looked at him in surprise.

Felicity turned to look where Mr. Ivanov was looking, and saw Oliver standing in the kitchen entryway. Tension she didn't even know she'd been feeling drained out of her at the sight of him.

Despite Mr Ivanov saying he would leave if she rejected the offer, he wasn't going anywhere and kept insisting that she accept the offer. It was starting to piss her off, not to mention worry her a little, and she was relieved Oliver had finally returned.

"Oliver!" she said, smiling. "You're back early. Let me introduce..." She stopped when she saw the look on his face. She'd seen him look like that once before, and that was in Russia when they were buying the police vehicle.

He looked like that now, minus the suit and overcoat. Having just been running, he was shirtless, wearing only cargo shorts and running shoes, but his stance and general demeanor were identical. Ramrod straight and completely motionless, arms hanging at his sides, hands curled into loose fists. It was his expression that made her blood run cold though. His eyes were dark and dead, flat and expressionless as a shark's.

She frowned. "Oliver? Is something..."

"Thank you for your time, Miss Smoak," Mr Ivanov interrupted her, gathering his papers and shoving them in his briefcase. "We must take our leave. I have to be back in Athens by this evening. You have my card if you change your mind."

This appeared to be news to Mr. Papadopoulos, but he allowed himself to be herded out of the breakfast nook nevertheless.

She rose as well. "I'll see you out, gentlemen..."

"I'll do it, Felicity," Oliver interjected, his voice as expressionless as his face, standing aside so the men could pass and following them without sparing her a glance and before she could even say a word.

Well, that was weird, she thought, following them after a beat, but heading to the living room window instead of the front door. Peering out, she saw them standing by the car the men had arrived in. Oliver was talking to them, but his posture had not changed, and his jaw, from what she could see of it, was tense. As for Mr. Ivanov, he had regained most of his composure. The convulsive bob of his Adam's apple was the only outward evidence for his fear.

When Oliver shook their hands and they hurriedly got into their car, she left the window and headed back into the kitchen to tidy up. She put the glasses in the sink and the wine back into the fridge, letting out a startled shriek when she closed to door to find Oliver behind it, standing still as a statue. He had approached completely silently, as usual.

"Jesus, Oliver, don't..."

"Who were those men, Felicity?" he interrupted, pinning her with his flat stare.

She tried again. "Oliver, what..."

He cut her off again. "Felicity," he rasped.

She frowned slightly at his shortness. "The Greek is a local realtor. He has a poky office in town. The Russian is Ilya Ivanov, he's currently based in Athens and is a bit player in property development. I researched them both. Not in depth, I didn't need to. The Russian is a bit shady, but I'm not planning on doing business with him anyway. With either of them."

Felicity was aware she was rambling, but Oliver's reaction was a little unsettling, and was making her nervous. She couldn't quite understand what had him so upset.

"They want to buy the taverna," she plowed on, barely pausing to take a breath. "Well, the land the taverna is on, anyway. They want to tear down the olive grove and build parking lots and cramped little holiday rentals, as if I'd ever let anyone ruin the coastline like that. That entire stretch of beach is mine, I don't know if I ever told you that. The taverna is on ten acres of prime beachfront property, and it's mine, courtesy of Isa..."

"So this isn't the first time they have paid you a visit?" Oliver interrupted again.

She laughed. "If only! This is like their third visit. They first showed up six months after I bought the land. I thought they'd given up actually; the last time I saw them was a month before you...showed...up..."

Her voice petered out. As she'd been speaking, his eyes had gone from blank, to cold and icy. He was angry. _Very_ angry. "...and...I'm guessing by the look on your face that I should have told you sooner."

"You're _guessing_ , Felicity?" Oliver exploded. "How could you have kept this from me?!"

Now she was thoroughly confused. "I...I don't understand why you're so upset. Aside from today, the last time I saw them was before you even arrived on the island. Anyway, I thought they'd given up..."

"If I hadn't shown up, would you have told me about today?" he ground out.

Felicity lost her temper, tired of his interruptions. "Stop interrogating me like I am one of your criminals! What is wrong with you?"

"Answer me," he ordered her, completely ignoring her outburst. "Would you have told me about today?"

Felicity opened her mouth to angrily say of course, and then shut it again, completely deflating when she realized she'd be lying. She saw the exact moment Oliver realized it too. His expression went from angry to hurt in a heartbeat, and Felicity choked back a sob at the sight, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oliver." Her voice was small. "I wouldn't have deliberately withheld it from you..." She stopped when he held up his hand.

"I can't...I can't do this right now. I have to go. I have to...I need some time." He turned, walking away, and then spun around and strode back toward her. Crowding her against the counter, so much so that the edge dug almost painfully into her back, he took her face in his hands and kissed her, hard and angry and hurt, then touched his forehead to hers, his eyes squeezed shut.

He stepped away from her so abruptly she almost pitched forward. "I'll be back tonight. We'll talk then." Snatching his keys of the island, he left the room without looking back.

She took a few steps after him, but stopped when she heard the front door slam. When the truck started, the tears spilled over her cheeks and she leaned against the fridge, sliding slowly to the floor. Pulling her legs to her chest, she buried her face in her knees and sobbed.

>>>\--------------->

The sun had just set when her phone woke her, curled up on the floor in front of the fridge. She clambered groggily to her feet and snatched it off the counter, hoping it was Oliver.

It was Maria.

"I thought you'd like to know Oliver is here," she started without preamble. "He just walked in, looking like someone stole you away from him. What happened?"

"It was a misunderstanding," she said dully. "He took off before I could explain."

"Well I'm sure you will sort it out." Maria sounded very confident. "I will feed him and send him back to you with, how do you call it, an attitude adjustment. Just don't let him push you away until you two have spoken, ok, _koritsi mou_?"

"He won't push me away," Felicity was sure of that much at least. "He said we'd talk when he got back."

When they had said their goodbyes, Felicity made a beeline for the freezer and withdrew a container of ice cream, grabbing a soup spoon from the dish drain on her way to the dining nook. Sliding in, she set the tub on the table, pried the lid off and dug in, trying to figure out where exactly she had gone wrong today.

It was obvious that Oliver was upset she hadn't told him about the visits. It was also clear that Ivanov had recognized Oliver's Bratva tattoo and it had rightfully scared him. This wasn't surprising; he was Russian, after all. He probably knew better than anyone what they were capable of, and he didn't know Oliver, so he didn't know he was one of the good guys. No wonder he'd cut their meeting short so abruptly.

But what did one have to do with the other, if anything?

She mechanically ate her way through the entire container, thinking, sitting in darkness as twilight faded to night.

>>>\--------------->

The ice cream was long gone and she was still sitting in the dark when Oliver returned. She heard the key in lock and then a light flip on in the hallway. She expected him to come into the kitchen - why, she wasn't exactly sure. She was sitting in the dark, after all - but he went straight down the hall to their bedroom.

A few moments later, he called out her name, an edge of panic in his voice.

"I'm in the kitchen," she called back.

He appeared in the doorway and turned on the light, tension leaking out of him as he spotted her. "I thought...Why are you sitting in the dark?" he asked warily as he walked over and slid onto the bench opposite her.

"I was thinking. And eating. You don't need light for that, and I didn't feel like getting up and turning it on."

They stared at each other wordlessly for a few moments.

"So," Felicity started, twisting her hands together nervously. "I upset you."

Oliver nodded. "You did."

"I'm not sure why. I mean I get it's because I didn't tell you about them, but I am not sure why it made you so angry. There's a lot I haven't told you, stuff that I don't think is important, so...I'm confused."

"Felicity." He rubbed both hands over his face and behind his neck. "We're a couple now. We don't keep things from each other anymore, not important things, and this...this was important. It's something you should have told me. I need to know when you are being threatened, or I can't take steps to protect you."

"Threatened? They were harmless! I mean, Ivanov is a sleazebag, but he's a business man...Ok, he was being mildly threatening there at the end, but it was just bluster, he would't actually hurt me...oh my god, was he going to hurt me!?"

Oliver's hands fisted in his hair, and he made a sound like a dying animal. "No, he wasn't going to hurt you. But if you hadn't accepted the offer, you would have soon been paid a visit by his 'associates'. They would have put the fear of God into you until you sold." He looked up at her. "If you _still_ refused, _then_ they would have hurt you. He was just the first wave, paving the way, so to speak."

She frowned. "How do you _know_ all this?"

Oliver leaned back and sighed. He looked really tired. "He's involved with the Bratva."

"He's...How could you possibly tell?"

"I just can. I've been around enough of them, I know their tactics. I was listening in for a few minutes before I showed up in the doorway. His associates, who by the way are really his employers, are _shestyorka_. They are little more than errand boys for the organization, the lowest ranking members, and they were operating independently, without the permission of their superiors."

"You couldn't possibly tell all that just from listening in." She was absolutely fascinated.

"No, I could tell he was involved with the Bratva just by listening in. Then I made some phone calls and found out the rest."

She thought for a moment. "So what do I do?"

"For a start, you stop saying 'I' and start saying 'we', Felicity. Or am I the only one taking us seriously?"

"About that, Oliver...Not telling you about today? I would have never done that on purpose. It's just..." she paused, searching for the words to explain herself, and then decided to start at the beginning.

"My mother was never much for mothering. I know she loves me, but she's flighty and irresponsible, and didn't let me get in the way of her having a good time. I had to fend for myself a lot, especially after my father left. I'm used to taking care of myself. I know I let you and Digg look out for me, but that was our night job. In my regular life, I rely on myself. I'm not used to relying on anyone else, and old habits die hard. Very long story short, it didn't even _occur_ to me to tell you. I was handling it."

She paused before continuing. "Honestly, I didn't think it would be a big deal to you, either. It's not like you're a stranger to keeping things from your significant other. It just didn't seem important to me. I would never have kept it from you if I had realized how strongly you felt about this."

"You're right, I'm not a stranger to keeping things from others, and look where it got me. I wasn't ready to move in with Laurel, but instead being honest with her about it, I slept with her sister. I've learned from my mistakes, Felicity, and I learned from watching Laurel and Tommy make the same mistakes she and I did. I don't want that to happen with you."

He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I'm in this for the long haul," he said earnestly. "I want to do this right. But you _have_ to meet me half way."

His eyes went out of focus, and his hand tightened almost painfully around hers.

"I was so worried," he whispered, and it seemed for a moment like he was talking to himself. "For a split second, listening to him threaten you, I thought my past had caught up with us somehow. If something happened to you..." He was looking at her again, fiercely, a hint of fear lurking deep in his blue eyes.

"Oliver." She slid out from behind the table and tugged at his hand until he stood before her. "I promise that from now on, I will make every effort to let you in, to share my burdens with you." She placed her hand on his cheek. "But you have to be patient with me. It's not easy to break the habits of a lifetime."

"That's all I ask," he said softly, pulling her into a warm, protective embrace.

>>>\--------------->

A few days later, Felicity was coming back into the house after a swim, when she heard Oliver at the front door speaking to someone in Russian. When he closed it, she noticed a huge flower arrangement on the hall table: fifty Baccarat roses, so dark red they were almost black, interspersed with baby's breath and arranged in a beautiful crystal vase, probably also Baccarat.

"Those were just dropped off for you." He indicated the flowers. "Mr. Ivanov wanted to deliver them to you personally, but I refused to allow it."

He looked at her with a challenge in his eyes, as if he expected her to argue with him. Ordinarily she might have; she didn't like the idea of him deciding whom he would or wouldn't allow her to see, but in this case, given what he'd told her about Ivanov and his henchmen, she was kind of relieved. She didn't want to see him or Papadopoulos ever again.

She looked at the arrangement warily.

"They're...beautiful," she said unenthusiastically, "but they are _so_ not me."

She much preferred the chaotic arrangements that Oliver bought her at the market. This bouquet was beautiful, formal and cold, not to mention a little creepy, given their provenance. She reached for the small envelope tucked in among the leaves and pulled out the card, immediately handing it in to Oliver when she saw it was in Russian.

He took it and looked at it. "It's an apology from Ivanov's associates, for imposing themselves on you." His expression was blank. "They present you with their assurances that you won't be hearing from them again."

"They do, do they?" She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. "Would you have had something to do with their change of heart, by any chance?" she asked innocently.

"I may have had a conversation with their superiors, during which I may have used my rank as captain to _strongly_ suggest that they see to it that you are never bothered again, by anyone under their control."

His tone and demeanor sent a frisson down her spine. No wonder they had sent roses, she was practically afraid of Oliver herself at that moment.

She looked at the arrangement again. "I think I will give these to Maria. They're a reminder of something I'd like to forget as soon as possible, but Maria loves roses, and these are truly fancy."

His tone was bland. "How funny, I was just going to suggest the exact same thing."

They just stood there, looking at each other.

"Oliver?" She blinked.

He blinked back. "Yes, Felicity?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You can relax now."

"I don't follow." His brow wrinkled in confusion.

"You're still in Arrow - or Bratva - mode." She waved a hand to indicate his rigid stance. "You're practically standing at attention."

He looked at her in surprise for a moment, and then laughed, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. His body visibly relaxed.

"You're right, you know." He smiled, reaching for her. "Old habits do die hard," he finished, pulling her in for a bruising, possessive kiss.


	15. Arousal and Anger

"Felicity?" Oliver spoke from behind her.

"Mmmm?" she hummed absently. She was sitting at the bar, filling the oil and vinegar cruets for the tables and focusing intently on the stream of oil, trying not to spill any.

"You have a visitor." There was a smile in his voice, but she was too distracted to wonder why.

"Who is it?" she asked without turning around, putting the stopper back in the bottle and setting it into the caddy next to the vinegar.

"How's my favorite IT girl?" came a voice she hadn't heard in far too long. Felicty froze, and then slowly turned to find Diggle standing at the entrance of the taverna, looking relaxed in a t-shirt and jeans.

She stared at him, speechless, her jaw hanging open. He dropped his black duffle to the floor.

"Don't I get a hug?" He held out his arms, grinning at her.

"Digg!" she squeaked, finally finding her voice. She slid off the bar stool and lunged at him, crashing into him so hard a lesser man would have stumbled backwards. Digg barely moved. Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face in his chest and to her utter shock, burst into tears.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's this now?" His voice gentle, he folded her into his huge arms.

Felicity allowed herself to sob hysterically for a moment and then forcibly pulled herself together. Stepping out of his embrace she dashed the backs of her hands over her eyes, and looked up at him sheepishly.

"Sorry about that," she hiccuped. "It's just...I'm so sorry for how I left, and I miss you so much, and for the longest time I didn't think I'd ever see you again, and did I mention that I missed you? I'm so happy to see you!" she almost wailed, stopping when she heard yet another familiar voice.

"Can the rest of us join this love-fest?"

Felicity looked past Diggle in shock, to find Sara standing behind him, Roy following not too far behind.

"Oh my god!" she squeaked again, practically jumping into her arms, simultaneously reaching for Roy and dragging him toward her, planting a kiss on his cheek. "I can't believe this! The team, all together again!"

Oliver cleared his throat, and Felicity looked at him.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" Oliver smiled affectionately at her and tipped his head in the direction of the taverna's dining room.

She turned around to find Dimitri and all their patrons staring at her.

"Uh, yes, let's." She made a vague 't's ok' gesture in the general direction of the bar, and told Dimitri that she was going to be upstairs for the rest of the evening. Then she led everyone toward the stairs heading up to the taverna's apartment.

"You speak Greek?" Roy shouldered his own duffel, sounding impressed.

"I can mostly get by." She reached for his backpack to help, and followed Oliver up the stairs.

The table on the balcony was not big enough to seat all of them, so they took her three wrought iron tables and enough chairs, and set up a makeshift dinner table on the roof.

They ate leftover moussaka and Greek salad by candlelight, and Felicity felt a stab of lust when Oliver brought up a plate of loukoumades, casting a very significant look in her direction. Fortunately her blush wasn't noticeable in the flickering light.

"So, how long are you all staying? Where's Laurel? And why aren't Lyla and Emily with you?" she addressed that last question directly to Diggle.

"We both felt it was too long a trip for Emily at such a young age." He set his knife and fork down on his empty plate. "Lyla decided to take her to visit with relatives while I am here. Some of them haven't seen her yet."

"And Laurel's met a guy," Roy chimed in. "He owns a boxing ring, and she's been training with him. The relationship's new, and she wanted to spend more time with him." He got a distant look on his face, and Felicity knew he was thinking about Thea.

When the others started conversing amongst themselves, she reached for Roy's hand and gave it a squeeze, addressing him quietly. "No news yet?"

He squeezed back, and looked just heartbroken. "No, nothing."

She leaned toward him. "I'll start looking again," she whispered in his ear, smiling encouragingly when he turned hopeful eyes on her. "Thanks," he whispered back. "I really appreciate that."

Letting his hand go, she turned back to the others, to find Olive's sharp gaze on her. She smiled innocently at him, and took a sip of her wine.

"So, Oliver," Sara turned to him. "What are you doing with yourself these days? You can't be used to all this free time."

"I'm not." He reached for the wine bottle and topped up her glass. "I keep busy, mostly by helping Maria's extended family - Maria is Felicity's substitute Mother; you'll probably meet her tomorrow - with whatever they need. I help with the grape or olive harvest, I've done construction work, I've gone out on their boats with them to help with the fishing...They pay me in goods, with wine, grapes, olive oil or olives, and a share of pretty much anything they pull out of the ocean."

"Now I've heard everything." Roy's voice was unsteady with suppressed laughter, "Oliver Queen, playboy billionaire, is...a fisherman?"

"On occasion." He looked at Roy expressionlessly. "It makes it very easy to get rid of the people who annoy me. The ocean is a great place to dump a body," he deadpanned as everyone erupted into raucous laughter.

>>>\--------------->

A few days later, Team Arrow was gathered in the kitchen of Oliver and Felicity's home in the mountains, ready to head out for a party in their honor at the taverna. Maria's family wanted to meet Felicity's friends, and since they would use any excuse for a party, they talked Felicity into closing the taverna to the public and hosting a big bash so they could all meet them.

They all wanted to chip in in some way, but Oliver insisted on paying the ladies to cater the party. The guest were only to bring themselves, musical instruments if they were so inclined, and their voices. There tended to be a lot of singing and dancing at these types of events.

Oliver had been half listening to Diggle and Sara, happy to have the team together again, when he caught the tail end of what Roy was saying to Felicity.

"...very lucky. It's not everyone that has a boyfriend who would actually kill to find them."

He had completely forgotten about the lie he had told Felicity about the favor he had done for ARGUS in exchange for information on her whereabouts, and Roy couldn't possibly have known he had kept that detail from her.

Oliver watched helplessly as Felicity froze, a glass of water halfway to her lips. She set the glass back down on the granite with a soft chink, and braced herself on the counter.

He closed his eyes, cursing his impulse to keep that particular piece of information from her. When he opened them again, Roy, who had just realized that he had divulged something he should have kept to himself, was looking at him helplessly, apology all over his face.

" _I'm sorry!_ " he mouthed silently in Oliver's direction.

Oliver shook his head. It wasn't Roy's fault. He shouldn't have lied to her when she asked him if he had killed anyone in his quest to find her. He had just wanted to spare her the weight of the knowledge that someone had died so that he could find her.

Diggle and Sara had quickly noticed something was wrong and had fallen silent. Diggle cleared his throat when neither Felicity nor Oliver made a move or said a word.

"Well. We're going to get going. We'll see you guys at the taverna later. We hope," he added under his breath.

Oliver nodded, reaching out and stopping Roy by gripping his shoulder as the young man slunk despondently by. "Roy," he said quietly. "It's ok. It's not your fault."

Roy nodded gratefully and followed Digg and Sara out of the kitchen.

Oliver and Felicity stood silently as the front door shut. He watched her, standing at the counter with her back to him, unmoving. He heard car doors slam and the sound of Digg's rental starting, and Felicity finally turned to him.

"You lied to me." She looked him straight in the eyes, her face expressionless and her voice sounding surprisingly conversational. She should have been a lot angrier, and somehow it made him even more wary.

"Yes. And I expected you to be a lot angrier about it," he added suspiciously.

Her eyes shifted from his, and he would have sworn she looked guilty. His eyes narrowed, a sense of foreboding coming over him.

"Felicity?" His voice held a warning. "What's going on?" He walked over to her and tilted her face up, leaving her no choice but to look at him.

She met his eyes boldly. "You can't get mad at me," she stated, which didn't reassure him at all.

"Yes, I can," he countered. "And I'm going to, if you don't tell me what the hell is going on." His grip on her chin tightened.

"The reason I'm not angrier - but believe me when I say I _am_ angry - is that I've been keeping something from you too," she started without preamble, pulling her chin free of his hand. "Something happened before you found me. I forgot about it until that day the Bratva sent me those roses. I remembered it that night, actually, and started to tell you, but you had already fallen asleep. By the next day, when I remembered again, things were going so well between us that I decided to wait..."

"Felicity." He made her name sound like a threat.

She closed her mouth with an audible click of her teeth, then took a deep breath. "I did a bit of cyber vigilante-ing a few months before you found me. Yannis, one of Maria's endless nephews - or is he a cousin? I can never keep track. Anyway, Yannis is not exactly the sharpest pencil in the case. He got scammed out of most of his savings in a shady, oh-so-obviously fraudulent get-rich-quick scheme...I mean seriously, an infant could have seen..."

She caught the look on his face, and mercifully got back on track. "Anyway, I overheard him talking about it at a family gathering, asked him a few pointed questions and then stole his money right back for him."

Oliver stared at her, not sure how he should react yet. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I did it again. _After_ I promised not to keep anymore secrets from you."

He closed his eyes and counted to three before opening them again. "Did _what_ again?"

"Cyber vigilante-ing. Yannis had no idea how the money ended up back in his account, but his brother figured out what I had done. Two weeks ago, he asked me if I would work my magic for a friend of his..."

Oliver felt a muscle start ticking in his jaw. He knew she had noticed because her eyes flicked to his jaw then back to his eyes, and she stopped talking.

She pushed away from the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to keep doing it, Oliver," she said firmly. "I miss it...what we used to do. Well, not all of it. I don't really miss being out in the field, or you being out in the field for that matter. But this? It's completely safe. I don't even have to leave the house to do it. I can _help_ people, Oliver!"

He wasn't sure if he had ever been this angry with anyone before in his life. Then again, he'd never loved anyone so much in his life either. He knew exactly what she was doing. She had taken advantage of the fact that he'd lied to her to confess to her own deception and on top of that, to tell him that she wanted to do keep doing what she'd lied about. And given that he had lied to her about killing in the course of trying to find her, he didn't really have the right to be angry.

But he was still angry. So angry, he could barely keep his voice steady.

"Felicity, you have to stop. You'll...Hey! Don't you walk away from me! I'm not done talking to you!" he yelled after her when she suddenly spun around on her heels, stalking out of the kitchen.

She jumped at his tone but barely hesitated, disappearing quickly down the hall. Jaws and fists clenched, he strode after her, turning the corner just as the bedroom door closed with a bang.

>>>\--------------->

Felicity locked the door and leaned against it, shaking with anger, feeling both guilty and vindicated at the same time. She wasn't proud of how she'd finally told Oliver that she'd been keeping things from him after promising she wouldn't, and in a way using his own deception against him. She new she had no right to be angry with him, but she was anyway.

The door handle rattled behind her. "Felicity," Oliver said sternly from the other side. "Open the door."

She moved away. "No. need some time alone. Go to the party without me."

His voice got rougher. "Felicity. Open. The door."

"Oliver." She sounded so tired. "Just go. The others are waiting. We'll talk about it later."

"Felicity. I can break down the door, or you can open it, saving us the trouble of getting a new one. Choose quickly, I'm running out of patience."

She rolled her eyes and took her phone out of the clutch resting on her side of the bed, plugging in her earbuds and putting them in her ears. The music started, drowning out everything but her angry, whirlwind thoughts.

When a hand landed on her shoulder, she screamed, tearing the buds out of her ears and spinning around. Oliver was standing about a foot away from her, glowering down at her. She peered around him, expecting to see the door broken in. It wasn't.

"How..." she looked at him, eyes wide.

"I picked the lock," he said darkly.

Her lips twitched. "Of course you did."

"This isn't funny, Felicity!" His voice started rising. "I'm really mad at you!"

"Join the club, mister!" she snapped, her voice rising as well.

They glared at each other, neither of them moving.

At some point, she would never be able to pinpoint why or when, anger morphed into arousal, and she could no longer tell the difference between the two. She just knew she wanted to fuck him silly _and_ scratch his eyes out. As he stared at her with the fierce, icy eyes of a bird of prey, she saw his pupils dilate, and knew he was responding to the lust in her.

Suddenly and simultaneously, they lunged at each other, pawing and grabbing, mouths clashing violently. Before long, pawing and grabbing turned into shoving and pulling as Oliver tried to draw her closer, and Felicity tried to push him away, struggling quite convincingly in his iron grip. They fought for a moment, until Oliver apparently had had enough.

Refusing to back off, he wrestled her easily to the love-seat in the corner of the room, and they tumbled down on to it. Rough hands hauled her hips into position between his parted knees, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand and burying the fingers of the other in her elaborate up-do. Slowly tipping her head, he positioned it to give him clear access to her throat.

It was a little bit frightening - and a lot exciting - how easily he subdued her, holding her immobile as he attacked her neck. She bit back a moan, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he was having on her.

"I'm still...mad at you," she panted, squirming.

"Not half as mad as I am at you."

She heard the Arrow in his voice, his breath hot on her throat and his deep tone vibrating through her, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

>>>\--------------->

Digg and Sara were sitting at the bar watching Roy, backed up against the wall by a worshiping half-circle of teenage girls. They were both laughing at the slightly panicked look on his face, when Sara caught sight of Oliver and Felicity standing just outside the entrance of the taverna.

She nudged Diggle and pointed a them. He turned to look, letting out a huff of laughter at the sight.

It was glaringly obvious that they had not only had a fight, but some pretty vigorous make-up sex as well. Felicity was disheveled and flushed, and had a slightly mutinous expression on her face. Oliver had sex-hair and Arrow-face, not to mention a possessive hand on the back of his girl's neck.

Felicity shrugged him off, an annoyed expression on her face, and took a step back. Oliver snatched her wrist out of the air, and pulled her, resisting, toward him. The exchanged what were probably angry words if the looks on their faces were any indication, and Felicity was visibly trying to pull her wrist free.

After a brief stand-off, their expressions softened. Felicity moved closer, her lips parting, and pretty soon Oliver had his hands on either side of her face and was kissing her thoroughly. Felicity's hands were fisted over the material of his shirt, trying to tug him impossibly closer.

"Looks like the storm has passed," Diggle looked at Sara with a grin. He paused, observing her closely. "You ok with that?" He tipped his head in their direction.

Sara took a swig from her beer. "Absolutely." There wasn't a hint of wistfulness in her voice as she watched the couple fondly. "I love them both, and if _anyone_ deserves to be happy, it's them."


	16. Retreating and Returning

The phone call came in the middle of the night. 

Thea was back in Starling. Roy had heard a rumor about a new club opening up in the glades, and an Internet search turned up a gossip item confirming that Thea Queen was indeed in the process of obtaining the permits necessary to restore one of the buildings damaged by the quake, and open up a club there. Diggle had immediately called Oliver.

"I'm putting you on loudspeaker, Digg." He rolled toward Felicity, putting his phone down on the mattress between them while she groggily fumbled for the light switch and then her glasses.

_"Your sister's bought the whole building, man."_

Oliver sat up, frowning down at the phone. "With what money?"

Although Thea's fortune had been restored along with Oliver's, she hadn't touched a penny of it. So where was she getting it?

_"It seems she has an anonymous investor. We weren't able to find out anything about him. Or her."_

He met Felicity's eyes, and she nodded, pulling on one of his t-shirts. "I'm on it. I can't do this on my tablet; I have to go to my office. It'll be quicker."

She was out of the bedroom and on the way to her computers before he could acknowledge her words.

"We're coming back, Digg." He pulled Felicity's tablet over and started looking up flights out of Athens. "I need to talk to her, make sure she's OK. I'll let you know when we'll be arriving. Call me if you find out anything else."

_"Will do._ " Diggle disconnected.

Oliver mentally calculated how soon they could make it to Athens and booked their first-class seats accordingly. Pulling on his jeans, he headed for Felicity's office to see how the search was going. He stopped in the doorway, watching her working at her computers, bare-legged and completely lost in his large shirt. It gradually slid off one shoulder as she typed furiously, propelling her chair between workstations on the balls of her feet.

"How's it coming?" He moved in behind her, looking at the gibberish on the screens. 

She held up one finger and continued to work wordlessly.

He waited impatiently, then waited some more. When his impatience got the best of him, he asked her again. "Anything yet?"

"Oliver," she said firmly without pausing.

He bit back a frustrated sigh and started pacing. He was about to throw caution to the wind and ask her again, when she swiveled around in her chair. "Ok, done."

"Finally." He turned to her. "Who is it?"

She gave him a look. "I don't know yet. I'm done setting up the searches. They're running. This isn't the movies, Oliver, these things..."

She stopped when one of the computers dinged, turned, and typed some more. Turning back to him, she continued. "These things take time. Why don't you go back to bed? I'll let you know as soon as I have something." 

Another chime sounded, and she was back to work.

Oliver just stood there, shifting on his feet, feeling useless.

"Oliver." She didn't even turn around this time. "Go. You're making me really nervous with your jittering."

He smiled. "How can you possibly know I'm...jittering?" 

"I can feel it. Right behind me. Now go. I promise you that when I find out who Thea's secret investor is, you'll be the first to know."

With another sigh, he turned and shuffled back to their bedroom to pack.

He didn't get very far. He was too distracted by his worries for his sister and whose influence she might be under. He paced, put something in his backpack, paced again, and was about to risk incurring Felicity's wrath by searching her out again when she appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed and pale. 

He was in front of her in the time it took her to blink, his hands fastened around her upper arms. "Felicity? What is it? Did you find out who it was?" 

"It's...it's Malcolm Merlyn." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if saying his name too loud might conjure up the man himself. "He's alive, and he's back in Starling. He and Thea arrived together."

His fingers clenched reactively, digging into her flesh. " _What!?_ "

 

>>>\----------------->

Felicity placed her carry-on on the bed and unzipped it, glancing over at Oliver as he tapped away at her tablet. "What are you doing?"

His reply was curt. "I'm canceling your flight."

She paused and looked up from her packing. "What? No! I'm coming with you."

He ignored her.

"Oliver." She strode over to him and grabbed his wrist. "I'm going with you."

He finally looked up at her. "No. That is absolutely out of the question." He pulled his wrist free easily and tossed the tablet on the bed, turning toward the dresser.

"I'm going with you," Felicity repeated firmly, crossing her arms.

"And I said no," Oliver countered with deadly calm, shoving a rolled-up pair of jeans into his backpack.

"Oliver..."

"Felicity." He cut her off, turning to her so suddenly she took a step back. "Malcolm Merlyn is dangerous. Possibly a lot more dangerous than we ever imagined."

"Duh. I was there, remember? I've seen what he's capable of."

He shot her a warning glance and continued. "The point is, I need you to be safe. I don't want you on his radar in any way, shape or form. You're officially gone from Starling, only a few people know where you are, and as far as Merlyn is concerned, I want to keep it that way." 

She pushed past him and grabbed a handful of underwear out of her drawer. "I can keep off his radar in Starling!"

She continued to argue with him, tossing panties and bras into her carry-on. "I can hide out in your...our apartment!" 

"Felicity..." There was an edge to his voice now.

She turned on him angrily. "You might need me! I'm..."

"Felicity!" he yelled, surprising them both into silence. She stared at him in shock and watched the fierce expression melt off his face.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have raised my voice. That was uncalled for."

"You did more than raise your voice." Felicity looked at him shrewdly. "You yelled at me," she continued softly. "What's going on?"

He looked away, over her head, the thousand-yard stare appearing in his eyes. "What do you mean?" He shifted on his feet, nervously rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

"You're not in control of yourself, and that's not like you. What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid," he muttered sulkily, avoiding her eyes.

"Oliver." She walked up to him and took his face in her hands. "Look at me." His eyes shot to hers. "What are you afraid of?"

For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer, but then his expression softened and he sighed in surrender, reaching for her hands and holding them against his chest. 

"When Slade..." He faltered. "I don't ever want to..."

Felicity understood immediately, but she kept silent, letting him find the words himself. When he finally did, they came tumbling out.

"I'm afraid that if Merlyn finds out about you, finds out how much you mean to me, he will use that against me the same way Slade did. I'm afraid you will be put in danger because of our connection. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to do what needs to be done if it came down to a choice between protecting you and...well, anything really. Protecting you will always come first, and protecting you could mean someone else dies."

Tears had sprung up as he was speaking, and by the time he was done, they had spilled over. She tried to pull free, but he wouldn't let her. 

"That's not fair, Oliver," she quavered, her lower lip trembling. "That's...emotional blackmail. Please. I want to go with you."

His face hardened again, and he let go of her hands, turning back to his packing. "It's not blackmail, it's fact. It's the plain truth. The answer is no, and that's final. You're staying here."

Felicity blinked back the tears and hardened as well. "You can't stop me from going, Oliver," she said bitterly. 

He turned toward her again, and she could almost see him wishing he could contradict her assertion, but they both knew that unless he wanted to take so drastic an action that it would spell the end of them - not to mention open him up to charges of unlawful detention - there was absolutely nothing he could do to keep her from following him. She watched him practically vibrate with the need to snatch her up and carry her off somewhere were nobody could reach her, and where she couldn't escape to get herself in trouble. She was sure she even saw his fingers twitch.

Then the tension melted out of him, and larger-than-life Oliver Queen seemed to shrink in defeat. 

"Felicity...please. I'm begging you. Do this for me. Stay here, at least until I have checked things out in Starling. Let me make sure it's safe, figure out what Merlyn is up to, and then if you still want to come, I won't stop you."

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, he had crowded her against the dresser, taken her face in his hands, and was desperately, frantically kissing her.

Felicity kept her head, knowing exactly what he was doing. As an absolute last resort, thinking she was going to deny him again, he fell back on an old trick he'd no doubt used countless times as a playboy: kiss a girl senseless to distract her and manipulate her into giving in. She returned his kiss with equal need and waited him out.  
   
Eventually his fervor died down, and his mouth stilled on hers. With one last soft, gentle touch of his lips to hers, he pulled away, his hands moving to her shoulders. She looked at him with undisguised skepticism, a knowing smile on her lips. He returned her smile with a sheepish one of his own.

"Did it work?" he asked, reading her mind.

"No," she deadpanned, shaking her head. "But before you go all broody and tortured on me, hear me out," she continued quickly, as his expression started heading that way.

"As I was going to say - before you rudely interrupted me with your transparent but impressive attempts at distraction - OK."

"O...K?" he repeated uncertainly.

"OK, as in yes, I will stay here in my ivory tower until you slay all the dragons in Starling and make the city safe for me."

And just like that, the ice was broken and tension fled the room. Oliver's relief and gratitude were palpable. "Are you making fun of me?" 

She ignored him, continuing dramatically. "I will split my time between pacing the parapets of our home, wearing a billowy white gown and gazing wistfully out to sea, mooning over my absent knight, and lying on a divan somewhere, clutching a lace handkerchief and a bottle of smelling salts..."

He blinked.  "What the hell is a divan?"

Felicity rolled her eyes. "It's a chaise longue. That's one definition, anyway." 

He blinked again.

"It means long chair. Like a sofa with only one arm and a bit of a back. Or no arms and no back. There are different kinds, and you probably had twelve of them around the mansion growing up."

"I don't think we have anything like that around here."

"I'll buy one," she said airily, waving her hand. 

They both grew serious at the same time. "Felicity," Oliver murmured, taking both of her hands in one of his, and putting his other on her cheek. "Thank you."

Her expression hardened. "I don't like it, Oliver. At all."

"I know." He kissed her softly on the lips.

She pulled her head back, looking up at him sternly. "I'm going to be keeping tabs on the situation, and if I find even the slightest hint of trouble, I'm on the first flight to Starling. Understood?"

Oliver, having gotten his way, was more interested in going in for another kiss. She turned her face away. Undeterred, he started nuzzling her jaw instead, his breath hot against her skin, and trapped her against the dresser with his hips. 

"Oliver." She tugged her hands free and squirmed her way out from between him and the dresser, putting a good three feet between them and holding up a warning finger. "I'm serious."

He sighed, dropping his chin, and stayed right where he was, knowing better than to approach her. "Yes. First flight to Starling. I understand. I don't like it, but we both know there would be nothing I could do to prevent it."

She nodded. "Good. Now, the first ferry doesn't leave for another four hours. Take me to bed and make me forget my name. I want to feel you for at least a day after you leave."

He smirked and strode purposefully toward her.

 

>>>\----------------->

They sat in the breakfast nook later that morning, plates pushed aside, nursing their cups of coffee, killing time until they needed to leave to get him to the ferry.

Oliver had been slowly reverting to his pre-Greece self since the moment he woke up. He had made love to her one more time, silently, desperately, before disappearing into the shower while she went to make coffee and rustle up something for breakfast.

Now she watched as he sat wordlessly across from her, the thousand-yard stare gradually coming over him again. His face went blank. It made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, but she said nothing, her eyes dropping to the coffee cup cradled in her hands. She understood why it was happening, and why it was exactly as he needed it to be.

"I want you to stay at the taverna while I'm away." 

Her eyes snapped back up to find his dead ones fixed on her. She nodded wordlessly, noticing the dull flare of relief in his eyes when she didn't argue. 

He had become so much a part of her, so integral to her life, that she couldn't imagine occupying their shared space without him. She didn't want to. At the taverna she'd be around people, and she'd keep busy doing the things she did before he reappeared in her life.

Sliding out from behind the table, she got a box and started packing up the perishables from the fridge to take with her. Then she packed her electronics and a few other things she wanted and was ready to leave. It was still too early, but she wanted to go. 

Oliver apparently had had the same idea. When their dishes were washed and sitting in the dish drain, he picked up the box to carry it out to the truck. Wordlessly, they left the house together, Felicity locking up behind them. They loaded their stuff in the bed of the truck and were soon making their way silently down the mountain.

"I think I'm going to tell Thea."

She knew immediately what he meant. "I think that's a good idea." She wanted to reach out and touch him but sensed that it wasn't the right time. Oliver was actively turning himself back into the person he used to be, needed to be, to deal with whatever situations would arise back in Starling, and that meant he needed to withdraw, and she needed to let him.

They didn't speak again until they got to the taverna.

They went up the back way, quietly, to avoid Maria who was in the kitchen singing - impressively well - along with the radio.

Oliver set the box down on the island. "I want to say goodbye here," he said, staring over her shoulder. "I'll take the truck and have a couple of the guys bring it back."

Her mouth flew open, a denial on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. This too she understood.

"OK. Call me anytime you need me, day or night. Oliver, look at me." She put her hands on his cheeks and his eyes slid to hers, focusing on them. "You call me, often," she said earnestly. "Anytime you need me, day or night. I want to help you any way I can." 

He slipped an arm around her waist and speared his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, anchoring her head as he kissed her, needy and greedy.

"I love you," he rasped against her lips, his voice deep and rough. 

His transformation back into the Arrow was complete. He turned, avoiding her eyes and disappeared silently down the back stairs.

She stood there a long time, wondering how she had possibly found the strength to let him go.

 

>>>\----------------->

They spoke to each other often and at great length while he was away.

While his reunion with Thea had gone well, something about her felt different, off, and it made him hesitant to divulge his secret. He knew he had to do it very soon, but now just wasn't the right time. 

" _She lied to me, Felicity. She says she has no idea where Malcolm is. I'm finding it hard to be angry with her when I'm keeping a huge secret from her as well._ "

"You'll find the right time."

Felicity wriggled her toes in the warm sand and dropped to her back, looking up into the starry sky. Soft voices drifted through the air from the taverna, mingling with the hissing of the waves dying on the beach. "How is Roy handling her return?"

" _Not well. She's acting like nothing happened between them, and it's driving him crazy. I'm starting to worry about him; his head isn't in the game right now. I'm considering sending him out to stay with you._ "

"I don't think he's going to go for that, Oliver."

" _He will if I tell him it's for your protection._ "

"What could I possibly need protecting from on a sleepy little Greek island?"

" _Oh, I don't know, shady Greek real estate developers with Bratva connections? You seem to attract trouble wherever you go._ "

"Point taken. Well, I'd be happy to have Roy here for company. It's lonely without you."

Oliver got serious again. " _I miss you too, Felicity. More than I thought possible. I'm going to try and wrap things up as quickly as possible here. In the meanwhile, take care of Roy, and let us know if you find anything that can help us figure out what Merlyn is up to. I'll call you tomorrow, OK? I love you..._ "

"I love you too, Oliver." Her voice broke on his name, and she quickly ended the call, the stars suddenly going blurry.

 

>>>\----------------->

Roy arrived a day earlier than expected. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Felicity, having just finished clearing up after the last customers, was sitting at the bar enjoying a glass of wine while Maria finished up in the kitchen.

"Felicity."

She yelped, sloshing some of her wine out onto the bar.

"Shit!" she hissed, putting down her glass and reaching behind the bar for a rag. She looked up in the middle of wiping up her spill and saw Roy, dusty and disheveled and looking like death warmed over, standing in the middle of the taverna.

"Roy!" She gasped. "You look terrible! I mean, hi! You're early. Not that it matters, of course. It's good to see you, anytime..." 

Her babbling dried up. Felicity slipped off the stool, headed straight for him and without a word, wrapped him in a warm hug. She was surprised when he melted into her, burying his face into her neck and dragging in a shuddering breath. Pulling back, she took his face in her hands, and ran her thumbs over the dark shadows under his eyes. 

"What's wrong, Roy?" she asked him softly.

"Oliver sent me," he said dully. "He was worried about leaving you alone for so long."

"I know. But that's not what I meant. How are things with Thea?"

"They're not." He didn't elaborate.

Felicity patted the stool next to her. "Sit. Do you want something to drink?" 

He shook his head, but she poured him a glass of water anyway.

"Drink. You're probably dehydrated after your trip. Planes are horrible in that respect." She waited as he downed most of the glass and set it back on the bar. "Now tell me. What's really going on?" 

"It's nothing. I haven't been sleeping well, and my head hasn't been in the game. Oliver thinks I'm going to get myself killed. He thought it would be good for me to get away for a bit, and he wanted someone he trusted to keep an eye on you."

"But what about Thea?" Felicity insisted.

"Thea..."

At that moment, Maria came bustling out of the kitchen. "Roy!" she cried. "I thought I heard the voice of my handsome boy! How nice of you to visit again so soon!"

Roy slipped off the bar stool and into Maria's arms.

"Mama," he sighed. Roy had never quite caught the hang of saying Mana Mou during his last visit with the team and had simply taken to calling Maria Mama. He absolutely adored her, and she treated him like a son. 

She pulled away, and as Felicity had done, took his face in her hands, wearing a look of concern. "You look tired,  _agóri mou_. Are you hungry?"

"Not really, Mama," he replied tiredly. "I think I just need to sleep."

She observed him with a stern expression. "When is the last time you ate?" 

"I...uh...I don't remember."

"Come." Maria ordered. "I will make something for you. You need your strength." 

"I'll take your bags upstairs. Your room is ready when you are." Felicity picked up his backpack and duffle and headed to her apartment as Maria towed him into the kitchen to start the process of taking care of him.

She dropped his bags in the guest room, then opened the window, pulling out the screens so she could close the shutters to keep the room cool and dark. Having once housed all her computer stuff, it had been turned into a proper bedroom after they moved to the house on the mountaintop. She brought in a jug of water and a glass, and placed a vase of flowers from the kitchen on the night stand. Once she was satisfied she had made the room as comforting as possible, she headed back down to join Roy and Maria in the kitchen.

He was sitting at the table finishing up a pita stuffed with lamb, tomatoes and lettuce, and a generous amount of tzatziki, listening to Maria chatter away as she made him some herbal tea.  

"It will help with the jet lag." She placed a steaming mug in front of him. "You are not to leave the table until you have drunk at least half," she chided him when he rolled his eyes at her. 

"Yes, Mama," he said dutifully, and Felicity was relieved to hear that his tone was already lighter.

 

>>>\----------------->

 

Roy slept for the rest of the day and all through the night, emerging from his room just before dawn, when the morning was still a soft, cool blue. Felicity was sitting at the island, sipping coffee and adding to Maria's shopping list. She watched him shuffle into the kitchen in his boxers, yawning, hair sticking up every which way.  

"It's about time. You've been asleep for eighteen hours." Sliding off the chair, she headed to the stove and assembled a cup of coffee for him, placing it in front of him when he sat down opposite her.  

"Thanks." He lifted the cup and took a sip. "Whoa," he said, looking down at the cup. "This is strong. Really good, though." 

"It'll get you firing on all cylinders again. When you're done, take a shower and get ready. You're coming with me to the market. We'll grab breakfast there."

He sent a small smile her way. "Yes, ma'am." 

They fell into comfortable silence and finished their coffee.

 

>>>\----------------->

Felicity let Roy drive the Vespa, climbing on behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. They whizzed along the coastal road, a crisp fresh wind in their hair, singing silly pop songs at the top of their lungs as the sun cleared the horizon, washing the world in the white gold light of a crystal clear morning.

They wandered through the still sleepy market, getting breakfast first. Fresh figs and plastic cups of Greek yogurt laced with thyme honey, and a little further down, a plate of piping hot tiganites, small fluffy Greek pancakes fresh off the griddle, drizzled with honey and topped with walnuts. 

Then it was on to shopping for the taverna. Felicity haggled and paid, and Roy carried the purchases, his absurd good looks attracting quite a bit of attention from the young women working and shopping at the market.

When they got back home, Maria was already in the kitchen, coffee bubbling on the stove, getting ready to start cooking for the day. She took Felicity to the side as Roy brought in the groceries.

"I told Dimitri not to come in today. We will put Roy to work at the bar. It will take his mind off his troubles."

Felicity smiled and nodded. It was a perfect way to keep his mind off Thea. "Good idea. He's worked in a nightclub, so the bar will be no problem for him."

She watched as Maria took over the unpacking from Roy, setting him to work putting away the things they wouldn't be needing immediately and having him generally fetch, carry and chop for her. Roy happily complied, doing Maria's bidding with a look of peace on his face. 

Propping herself against the door jamb, she had a good look at him. He looked a lot better than he had when he'd arrived. He'd had a much needed, good night's sleep, a couple of mostly healthy meals, and a good dose of fresh air and sunlight. His blue eyes were clear, the shadows under them almost faded, and his skin had lost the sallow cast he had arrived with. 

Interacting with the taverna's patrons turned out to be exactly what he needed. When word got around that _i̱ Amerikanikí̱_ had a handsome young visitor, also an American, the average age of the taverna's customers plummeted. Young women started flocking to the bar in the evenings after dinner, and very shortly thereafter, the young men followed. The older patrons, who had grown accustomed to enjoying their evening drinks and card games in a sleepy, mostly empty taverna, were not pleased. Most evenings, Felicity had to throw everyone out so that they could finally close up. They would scrounge up some leftovers, eating in a daze in the kitchen, and then head for their separate beds.

Just as Roy regained his equilibrium, Felicity lost hers. Early mornings, busy days and late nights gradually took their toll. She missed Oliver terribly and started spending more time obsessively checking the programs that were scouring traffic and security cams for not only Malcolm and Thea's faces, but Team Arrow's as well, looking for a way to search faster and better, anything to get him home sooner. She checked her news feeds even though she had set up alerts that would go to her phone immediately.

It was all fairly pointless, as she didn't really know what she was looking for. But she found she couldn't stop herself, and not a day went by that she didn't battle the temptation to jump on a plane to Starling to join him. The only thing that stopped her was Roy. If she went, he would go too, and she hated to take him away from here when he was starting to come to life again.

And just as Felicity had been there for Roy when he was at his lowest, he was there for her when she needed him. He tried to get her to stop spending most of her free time with her computers, but she was stubborn. At a loss, he finally spoke to Maria, firmly ratting Felicity out despite her glaring daggers at him. Maria immediately arranged for Felicity to take a day off to show Roy some of her favorite spots on the island. She sent Roy and a resigned Felicity off the very next morning with a picnic.  

It did her a world of good, but all the good was undone pretty quickly when Felicity went straight back to her bad habits. Roy sometimes heard her late into the night, pacing or tapping away, muttering to herself. At a loss, he finally called Oliver.

"She's not sleeping, and it's really starting to show." He spoke quietly so as not to be overheard, watching Felicity listlessly clear tables. "I don't know what to do. She won't listen to me, and Maria can't watch her all the time, so she can't get very far with her either." 

" _I'll call her after you and I are done._ " Oliver paused. " _Roy...something happened. Thea tried to kill Sara. They are both fine,_ " he continued quickly before Roy could say anything, " _in fact, Thea doesn't even remember doing it. Sara says it sounds like she may have been manipulated into it by Malcolm. There is an herb, a drug the League of Assassins uses that makes one very suggestible and unable to remember afterwards. We have no idea what his purpose was, though._ "

By the time Oliver had finished, Roy was almost preternaturally still, scared at the intensity of the rage stirring in his belly at the thought of Malcolm using his daughter in that way. A muscle started leaping in his jaw. "Was Sara hurt?"

" _She took two arrows to the shoulder and had a bit of a rough landing coming off a building, but fortunately Laurel was there. She got her back to the foundry and Digg was able to patch her up._ "

"Wait..." Roy frowned. "When did Thea learn how to shoot a bow?"

" _Yeah, that's another thing. Thea seems to have picked up some fighting skills while she was away. The Arrow found out the hard way. I tried to scare her into telling me about Malcolm, and she tried to kick my ass instead._ " 

"I'm not going to make the last ferry, but I'll head back first thing tomorrow." Roy could think of nothing but getting back to Thea's side.

" _No! Roy, please. If you come back, Felicity will come with you. I can't have her here. It's too dangerous. Once I find a way to tell Thea about what Malcolm is doing, I'm hoping I can talk her and Sara into coming back with me. Please give me a few more days._ "  

"Oliver..." 

Oliver interrupted him. " _Please, Roy. A few days_." 

Roy was about to argue when he caught sight of Felicity's wan face, dark circles under her eyes. She needed him right now, and he owed it to her. Oliver was right; if he went, she would follow. He released a gusting breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"OK. A few days. But Oliver, if you think Felicity is going to just sit tight when she hears what's going down, you don't know her as well as you should." 

" _I can handle her. Is she there?_ "

"She's clearing tables."

" _I'm going to call her now. Could you take over for her?_ "

"Sure."

They disconnected, and Roy waited for Felicity's phone to ring before taking over from her as she took the call down to the beach to talk to Oliver in private. Before Oliver had finished filling her in on all that had been going on in Starling, she had turned around and was back in the apartment, looking at flights on her tablet.

"I'm heading out tomorrow." Her tone brooked no argument, but apparently that meant less than nothing to Oliver. 

" _Felicity_..."

"No," she snapped. "Not this time, Oliver. This is exactly the type of situation I was referring to when I said I would be taking the first flight out to Starling. You agreed. I am coming. End of discussion."

" _Felicity!_ "

She used her loud voice. "No, Oliver! I'm coming! End of story!"

There was silence on the end of the line. "Oliver?"

When he finally spoke, his tone was absolutely final. " _You leave me no choice. I'm telling Thea about me tonight, then we're going to tell her about what Merlyn did. I'm taking the first flight out to Greece tomorrow. I'll be back in a couple of days._ " 

Felicity was left temporarily speechless. She blinked and then shook her head. "Wait...what? You're just going to leave Thea to deal with Malcolm? And what about Sara?"

" _Thea is an adult, and apparently more than capable of taking care of herself. That goes doubly for Sara. They will take care of each other, and they'll have Diggle and Laurel too. You are my priority. If I can't make you stay home, safe, I have no choice but to come back to you. This is the only way I can stop you._ "

"You bastard," she hissed. "What if I go to Starling anyway?"

" _You won't,_ " he replied with calm certainty, and he was right, damn him. There was no point in going if he was heading back. She knew when she was beaten.

There was a long silence while Felicity struggled with her frustration and anger, and Oliver waited silently for her to capitulate. Stressed, exhausted and with no energy left to fight him, she dropped onto the bed and started crying.

"Fine," she sobbed, dashing the tears off her face. "You win. I'll stay here, and you stay there."

As quickly as she had started crying, she pulled herself together and stopped again, her voice turning cold. "But this isn't over. This is the second time you've basically blackmailed me into doing what you want, and we will be having a pointed conversation about this eventually."

" _I'm sorry,_ " he said gently, and she could tell that he truly was. " _I told you I'd do whatever it took to keep you safe_." 

"I know." She thawed a little. "I'm just not sure I agree with your methods. But clearly, there is no point in my arguing with you." 

" _I love you, Felicity. I'm not sure you'll ever understand how much._ "

She closed her eyes, her anger and hurt melting away completely in the warmth of his devotion to her. "I love you too, Oliver. With all my heart. I just don't like you very much right now." 

The ice was broken. " _I understand_ ," he laughed. " _Listen, Thea just arrived at the club. I'll call you tomorrow_."

 

>>>\----------------->

Almost exactly twenty-four hours later, it was all over. 

Right after ending his call with Felicity, Oliver brought his sister into the foundry and shared his biggest secret with her. He had never been so apprehensive in his life. 

If he had dared to dream, he couldn't have imagined a better reaction from her at his news. She accepted him wholeheartedly, and even thanked him for what he had done for the city. Weak with relief, he called Digg, Laurel and Sara down to the foundry and together they told Thea the truth about what her father had done. 

“How did she take it?” Felicity murmured sleepily, rolling onto her back. She had just fallen asleep when Oliver's call had come through.

“ _She took it very well. Too well, it turns out_.” 

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

Upon finding out that her own father had tried to use her to kill Sara, Thea had thanked them for telling her, then told them she needed to get back to work. They found out the next morning that she had walked right out of the building to the nearest payphone and made an anonymous call to Quentin Lance, telling him where Malcolm Merlyn, the mastermind behind the Undertaking, could be found. 

She sat up, suddenly wide awake. "Whoa. Go, Thea! Finally, that murdering bastard is behind bars and out of our lives."

There was silence for a moment at the end other end of the line. " _Well, not exactly_..."

Unfortunately, Merlyn had yet again evaded capture. By the time the police had gotten to the loft, he had disappeared without a trace. Now that the world - including the League of Assassins - knew he was alive, he would be forced to go deep underground.

"So, not behind bars, but definitely out of our lives."

" _Yeah. Whether the League catches up with him or not, I don't think we'll be seeing him again_." 

She sank back against the pillows, relief in her voice. "Thank goodness that's over. When are you coming home?"

" _I'm at the airport, waiting to board._ " 

Letting out a happy yelp, Felicity rolled over onto her stomach on the bed, reaching for a notepad. "Are you bringing Sara and Thea with you?" She started making a list of things she needed to do to prepare for Oliver's homecoming.

" _No. Sara left. Probably back to Nyssa and the League. And Thea is determined to open up and run her own club. She's asking when Roy is planning on coming back. I think she's going to poach him from Verdant_."

"He'll be glad to hear that. I think he's still up. I'll tell him as soon as I get off the phone. I suspect he'll be on the first ferry out tomorrow morning."

" _No doubt. Oh, gotta go. My flight is boarding. I'll call you when I land. Love you..._ "

She dropped her pen and rolled onto her back again, smiling dreamily up at the ceiling. "I love you too, Oliver."

 

>>>\----------------->

Oliver had seen the glow of firelight on the roof by the time they were halfway up the mountain. That, coupled with the darting glances Costas kept throwing his way, and the way he was practically bursting to tell him something, told him that Felicity had quite the welcome waiting for him.

" _Ef̱charistíes_ , Costas." He opened the door, and hopped out as soon as his friend came to a stop in front of the house, getting his duffle out of the back.

" _Parakaló̱_ , Oliver." Costas could barely keep from snickering as he made a u-turn and headed down the mountain again.

Oliver waited until he had disappeared from view and then turned, looking up at the rooftop from the shadows.

Looking down at him, her face in darkness and her hair a swirl of living fire around her head and shoulders, was the love of his life.

He had no idea how tense and miserable he'd been until that moment, and he couldn't believe he'd spent so much of his post-Lian Yu life feeling like that, never realizing that there was more for him than the life he had been leading, even when it had been right under his nose in the beautiful form of Felicity. 

Every muscle in his body unclenched as he looked up at her, a happy grin spreading on his face. Bounding to the front door, he let himself in and dropped his duffle in the front hall, wasting no time in getting himself onto the roof.

He emerged into a fairy tale. The entire space was festooned with fairy lights and ringed with candles. Every conceivable jar, candle holder and plate had been pressed into service, and when she had run out of containers, Felicity had simply placed the candles on the tile. The hot tub was bubbling away, tea lights dotting the base and the corners. A table was set for two, and another table held an array of dishes and wines.

Then there was the bed. A simple king-sized mattress on a pedestal, it was piled with pillows, and Oliver suddenly wanted nothing more than to press his girl into those pillows and bury himself inside her.

Speaking of his girl... He started laughing when she saw her, grinning cheekily at him. As promised, she was wearing the billowy white gown that she had joked about before he left. 

Her eyes never leaving his, Felicity reached for the ribbon over her breasts and pulled. The gown slithered down her body, pooling like gossamer at her feet and leaving her standing there completely bare. She stepped out of the gown and started toward him.

Oliver had never undressed that quickly. Naked, he strode toward her, meeting her halfway. They stood very close, staring at each other, tension vibrating off them. A brief pause and they clashed together, wildly grabbing and clutching, kissing as if it were the first and last time.

He backed her toward the bed and guided her down onto her back, crawling over her and wasting no time settling himself between her parted thighs.

She cupped his face. "Welcome home," she whispered against his lips, crying out when he finally slid into her.

 

>>>\----------------->

Oliver woke to the bright light of an almost full moon bisected by a wispy ribbon of cloud. Shifting carefully, he gently peeled Felicity from his side, and she rolled away from him with a contented hum, splaying out on her stomach and sinking into sleep again.

He rose to his feet by the bed and looked down at her, damp tendrils sticking to her cheeks, her skin glowing like mother of pearl in the silvery light. White bedding under a bright moon had turned the bed into a spotlight on the otherwise darkened rooftop. 

They had blown out the last of the candles hours ago. After making love, they had eaten, made love again, made out in the hot tub, then stumbled dripping wet onto the bed and made love twice more before finally letting sleep take them.

They had been some of the happiest hours of his life, coming on the heels of some of the bleakest days he had been through since Lian Yu.   He had missed her terribly, from the moment he had boarded the ferry to the moment he had caught sight of her again, standing on the rooftop, waiting for him to come home. The ache that had bloomed in his chest as he watched the island that held his heart recede into the distance hadn't left him until he set foot on the docks again.   

Becoming the Arrow again had been more unpleasant than he'd expected, and it had only been made worse by her absence. Starling City held nothing but bad memories and seemed dingy and dirty compared to the clear air and ever present sunlight of the island.  He spun away from the bed and walked to the edge of the roof, staring down moonlit slopes to the sleeping town below, beyond which the ocean refracted the light, like scales on a sleeping sea monster.

  "Oliver?"

She appeared by his side, and he turned to her like a magnet, the last remaining shreds of the Arrow falling away as he looked into eyes turned silver in the moonlight. His time away faded into insignificance, and it was as if he had never left.  

"Felicity." It was a sigh of relief.  

He was finally home again.


	17. For Now and Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. I'm out of ideas. That being said, this chapter wouldn't exist if two commenters hadn't given me some ideas, so I guess you never know. But for now, Oliver and Felicity's story is done.
> 
> Thanks for coming along for the ride, and for the kudos and comments!

It started innocently enough. 

Maria was at the kitchen table in the taverna, planning yet another wedding for yet another female relative. Dog-eared recipe books and bridal magazines covered half the surface, and she was jotting down notes in what she called her wedding book, a leather-bound volume so crammed full of swatches of fabric and pictures that it wouldn't close and had to be held together with a rubber band. A running commentary accompanied every idea she put down on paper.

Felicity wasn't listening. She was too busy shoveling hummus into her mouth and watching Oliver arguing with Thea via text message.

Thea had built a secondary lair under her new club, and Oliver was not amused. First, because the word "secondary" implied that she had joined Digg, Roy and Laurel in the lair beneath Verdant, and second, that secondary lair could easily become a primary lair for Thea and Roy. He did not feel they were ready to go out on their own.

He was even less amused by Thea's endless calls to Felicity, asking for advice about setting up her own computer system. Separate from the club one. It had ended in Felicity agreeing to do some remote set-up and maintenance, not to mention teaching Thea a few tricks of the hacker trade.

To Oliver, it seemed as if just as he had shaken off the Arrow and thrown himself into living a relatively normal life in Greece, Felicity was slowly letting herself get dragged back into her old hacktivist life.

He was wrong of course, and Felicity told him so repeatedly. 

She was just helping out and had no desire to get sucked back in to protecting Starling, and she reassured him about this as often as he needed to hear it. She had even abandoned - for now - the idea of helping people who had been wronged get their money back, though she would help her family and friends if they needed it.

"...but I don't think it suits them. I will save that idea for when you and Oliver get married."

Felicity froze, a pita wedge loaded with hummus half way between her mouth and her plate.

She put it down. "What?"

Maria continued writing. "The table setting idea I just told you about. I decided to save it for when you and Oliver get married. It's perfect for you."

Felicity's brain temporarily stopped working. She felt like a rabbit caught in headlights. Her eyes darted wildly between Oliver, who was watching her with a small frown creasing his forehead, and Maria who had yet to notice something was wrong.

"We haven't...we're not...I mean...Excuse me!"

She lurched out of her seat and darted out of the kitchen, through the empty taverna and down to the beach.

>>>\------------------->

"She is scared, I think." Maria was looking at him shrewdly over the top of her reading glasses.

Oliver immediately thought about that long ago conversation about Felicity's family, the night his mother announced she was running for mayor, and how it had affected Felicity when her father had left. 

"Yes. Yes, I think she is. And I think I might know why." He stood. "I'll go talk to her."

"Oliver."

He turned back to the woman who had become a second mother to him.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Don't worry. She is a bright girl. She will figure things out." 

He frowned in confusion. Maria seemed to know what was going on with Felicity, and he wondered if Felicity had shared some of her past with her.

"I may have had a similar reaction when my husband asked me to marry him," she explained in response to his unspoken question.

"Has she told you anything about her past?"

She let go of his hand and went to the stove to pour herself another cup of coffee. "Not much. But sometimes, it's the things that go unspoken that tell you the most about a person."

"That's very true." He smiled as she took her seat again, setting her cup down. "When did you get so wise, old woman?"

"If you think I won't soundly paddle your backside you are very much mistaken, young man," she deadpanned, marking a page in one of the bridal magazines.

Oliver shot a look at her infamous cooking spoon and grinned. "I don't doubt that for a second, _mana mou_." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and went in search of his girlfriend.

>>>\------------------->

Oliver knew exactly where to find her. 

He walked down the beach, away from the taverna to where the beach ended, at least at high tide. At low tide, like now, you could walk around the rocks to find a secluded little cove. It was one of the places Felicity sometimes went to when she had to think, or wanted to be alone.

She was perched on a low rock, her heels propped up on the edge, hugging her knees to her chest. She avoided looking at him as he made his way over to her and sat down beside her. Her only acknowledgement of his presence was to lean into him, her shoulder coming to rest against his upper arm.

They sat wordlessly side by side, staring out over the ocean as he waited for her to collect her thoughts and speak. She was silent for so long, he was almost startled when she finally did.

"I don't want you to think I don't want to be with you."

He turned his head, watching her profile as she spoke, her loose curls shifting in the breeze. "I don't think that, Felicity."

"I don't know what happened." She unfolded her legs and put her feet down, digging her toes into the warm sand. "I mean, I know what happened, I freaked out at the idea of marrying you. Which is ridiculous, because we've never even talked about..."

"Felicity." He gently cut her babbling short. 

She took a breath and got back on track. "It's just...marriage is so...so..."

When it came to emotional intelligence, Felicity's unconventional upbringing had left her somewhat lacking. She had no idea how to verbalize her feelings and her fears about the wedded state.

Oliver did it for her. "I know. It's a huge commitment, if you take it seriously. And it means you have to deal with some scary issues."

"You mean my abandonment issues." She was running her hands up and down her thighs, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

"I mean that your father leaving hurt you so much that you want to protect yourself, to keep yourself from going through that again. Marriage takes away the illusion of safety that being single gives you." He threaded his fingers through hers, stilling her hand. "It's a step away from that safety zone. It makes you more vulnerable."

"What do you mean when you say 'Illusion of safety'"? She was looking at him now, curious.

"Well, being single doesn't actually protect you from loss, or being hurt. A person can be abandoned by their loved one whether they are married or not."

Her forehead creased. "Since when did you get so smart about relationships?"

"Since I fell in love with you." He watched a faint pink stain the apples of her cheeks. "Do you ever see a time, can you even imagine a time when you would leave me? When we wouldn't be together?"

She replied without hesitation. "No. Never."

"Then what difference could us being married possibly make? Felicity, you're one of a kind. Absolutely unique. And after what we've been through together, after what you've done for me, and sacrificed for me...no one will ever measure up to you. Marriage is nothing in the face of that kind of a bond. And that's why you shouldn't fear it."

Oliver stood and dropped to a crouch in front of her, his thighs bracketing her knees. He reached for her other hand. "Whether we ever get married or not, you're it for me. There can't be anyone else. So I have a suggestion. How about I promise to never ask you to marry me? If you ever want to take the plunge, you'll have to ask me. What do you say?"

She smiled tentatively. "It does take the pressure off a little. I don't know why there should be pressure though, I mean it's not like..."

"Felicity. You don't need to justify your feelings to me."

He stopped talking when she threw herself at him, almost knocking him off his feet, her mouth clashing with his. His arms flew around her, trapping her against him.

She didn't say a word, but the intensity of her kiss told him all he needed to know. Rising out of his crouch he lifted Felicity to her feet with him, still being thoroughly kissed by her.

"Hey." He broke the kiss and cupped her face. "Hey. We have to get going. The tide's coming in."

Felicity shook off her daze and looked over to the shore. Their path was already ankle deep in water.

Oliver turned his back to her. "Jump up."

She put her hands on his shoulders and jumped, wrapping her arms around his neck and hooking her legs over his hips. His hands hands slid beneath her thighs to support them, and he carried her quickly through the swirling waters.

He didn't set her down again until they had reached the path leading up to the taverna. 

"Felicity." He stopped her with a hand to her shoulder as she started heading in. "Let's stay here tonight. I'll go talk to Maria, break the news that there isn't going to be a wedding, and scrounge up some leftovers. We can have a picnic on the roof. Or in bed." 

She smiled, rising on her toes to kiss him. "Sounds wonderful. Don't be too long."

>>>\------------------->

He walked into the apartment an hour and a half after she did.

She looked up from her tablet. "Did you have to talk her off the ledge or something? That took forever. Is she very upset?"

"No." He set the basket of leftovers on the island. "She was very cool about it. I don't think she believed me when I told her there wasn't going to be a wedding, but she's not going to bother us about it anymore."

She eyeballed him speculatively. "There's something else. You look a bit like Costas when he's dying to share something but is under strict orders not to."

"Well, I'm not under any orders. Now, what's it to be? Picnic in bed, or on the roof?"

"But you have something you are dying to share." Standing, she sashayed over to him, stopping just out of his reach.

"Yes." He moved closer and hooked a finger into her waitsband, reeling her in. 

She batted his hand away and took a step back. "Well, then? Spill, mister."

"No. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because now is not the time."

"When will it be time?"

"Felicity...roof or bed? If you don't pick, I will."

She wrinkled her nose. "You know I hate mysteries, right?"

"I do. Bed it is, then. Naked."

Felicity tried everything to get him to spill, in bed and out of it. Nothing worked. Oliver, who had withstood interrogations far worse than anything Felicity could ever dish out, remained mum.

>>>\------------------->

He was gone when Felicity woke up the next morning, leaving a note on his pillow. 

A note folded up into an origami swan. She almost hated to unfold it. 

_Running some errands with Maria. She left you a list of chores for lunch prep while she is away, she'll take over again when we get back. Be ready by 11:00, I'm taking you out to lunch. Love, O._

She rolled onto her back with a frustrated groan. Great. Whatever Oliver's big secret was, it looked like Maria might be involved.

Felicity spent the morning busying herself about the taverna, trying not to obsess over whatever it was Oliver was hiding. When he and Maria got back, the latter absolutely beaming at Felicity, she thought she would explode.

"You ready?" Oliver ran his hand from the back of her neck to the small of her back. 

"For you to tell me what the hell is going on? You bet."

He smiled enigmatically. _C'mon_ , he mouthed, tipping his head in the direction of the parking lot.

Resigned to having to wait until he was good and ready to talk, she followed him out the car.

"What's in the backpack?" 

He put it in the bed of the truck and opened the driver's side door for her. "Lunch."

She climbed in and scooted across the seat to the passenger side. "I thought you were taking me out?"

"I am." He climbed in behind her and shut the door, starting the engine. 

"You're not going to tell me _anything_ , are you?" she commented when he offered no other explanation.

He just glanced over at her and smiled.

They drove on in silence, until Oliver turned on to the road that led up to their mountain home.

"Uh...Oliver? Are you taking me to lunch at our place?"

"You could say that, yes."

She waited for more, but nothing seemed to be forthcoming. "I've told you I hate mysteries, right?"

"Many, many times."

Smiling at his infinite patience with her, she watched him as they drove, marveling once again at the fact that this amazing, beautiful man loved her more than life, and wanted to be with her. How could she have gotten so lucky?

Instead of going in to the house when they arrived, Oliver led her around it, across one of the terraces and down the steps to a rocky path. 

They followed the path, with Oliver helping her over the more difficult parts, until it petered out, dead-ending in a grassy bowl before two huge boulders. At the foot of the boulder, a hot spring bubbled out from the rocky ground. Someone - Oliver, she presumed - had built a semi circle around the spring, damming it up and creating a natural hot tub. Off to the right, a solitary cypress tree cast some shade on the grass. The view was incredible.

"You...did this?" Felicity was quietly awed.

He nodded. "I wanted to wait until this was a little further along, but I think now is the right time. I've been slowly working on the dam...you'd be surprised how long it takes to find exactly the right rock. They come from all over the island. I made collecting them and bringing them here a part of my workout."

"It looks amazing."

"It'll take a few years, but slowly, the build-up of water will irrigate the surrounding earth and we'll see more vegetation."

They stood in silence for a moment. Oliver watched her face, while she took in his handiwork.

"My reasons for showing you this now are first that this is a long term project, and I want to see it through. It binds us together, in this place. No matter where we go, the beginnings of us as a couple are here, our roots are here. And it will always be home to me."

Felicity was too moved to say much more than "and second?" in a tremulous voice.

"Consider it an engagement present."

She hugged her arms to her chest, her eyes sliding away from his. "Oliver..."

He moved to stand in front of her, tipping her face up to look at him again. "Hear me out," he interrupted her. "I'm not asking you to marry me. I said I'd leave that up to you. It's just that...well, Maria gave me something. Two things, actually. An idea, and..." He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ring. "This."

"Oh, wow!" Felicity reached for it and held it up to the light. "It's gorgeous. It looks like an antique."

It was a ring of white gold with five rose cut diamonds set in a closed foil-back setting, the largest one in the middle bracketed by two more in decreasing size. It was understated and soft, lacking the hard glitter of traditional diamonds. It was absolutely perfect. 

"Why did she give it to you? And what was the idea?"

"It was her engagement ring. She gave it to me to give to you when we were ready, and that in turn gave me the idea, which is...Felicity, will you do me the honor of being my fiancee? Until death do us part, or until you ask me to marry you?" He watched the color drain out of her face as he spoke.

"Wait...Wait. What? This was hers? Why is she giving this to me? I mean to you?"

"She is still convinced we are eventually getting hitched, and she wants you to have it."

"I can't! She needs to keep it in the family! She has granddaughters...she...they..." Her eyes welled up.

"Felicity. She thinks of you as a daughter, and loves you like you were her own. She never had any, and she wants _you_ to have it."

Her lower lip started trembling, and the tears that had been gathering in her eyes spilled over. For what felt like forever she was rendered speechless both by the unspoken expression of Oliver's love, and the evidence or Maria's.

"Felicity?" Oliver was starting to looking a bit vulnerable. "Give a guy a break here. What do you say?"

"What do I say?" she quavered. "Yes, of course. How could I say anything else? Yes, Oliver, I'll be your fiancee, until death do us part, _et cetera_."

"You're such a romantic," he quipped, taking her hand and slipping the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit, both in size and appearance.

They both moved toward each other at the same time, and she sank gratefully into Oliver's warm embrace. Enfolded in her love's arms and surrounded by the scent of him, his heart beating steady and strong beneath her cheek, Felicity felt her scarred psyche begin to heal. There, on top of their island, Maria's ring already warm on her finger, she finally found true peace.

After an endless moment of silence, she finally spoke. "Oliver?"

She felt his cheek shift against her hair. "Mmm?"

"I'm hungry. What's for lunch?"


	18. Engaged and Eloping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I didn't expect a wedding, or even necessarily an engagement at the end of season four, but I did expect a reconciliation at the very least. I'm a little disappointed, and a little disillusioned. 
> 
> The solution? FANFIC!!! WOOHOO! This is short, and written in a bit of a rush, because this is really just a fix, and I am not big on marriage. This story doesn't care about my feelings on the subject though, so...

"Oliver?" She tore her eyes away from the cloud that looked like a bridal bouquet and rolled over on her side, her eyes fixing on his profile, and watched the sea breeze gently ruffle his hair.

He grunted in response, half asleep.

"Will you marry me?"

His eyes shot open, finding hers immediately as he turned his head toward her, rising on one elbow. "What?"

She sat up, crossing her bare legs in the warm sand and looked down at him a bit sternly. "You heard me."

"That's just it...I'm not sure I heard you correctly. I was almost asleep."

"Well, what do you think you heard?"

"I think I heard you ask me to marry you."

"Then you heard me correctly."

He sat up, knees touching hers, a cheesy grin slowly blooming on his face as he stared at her like a sap.

She stared back into eyes blue as the sky, the silence stretching interminably. "Um...Oliver?"

"Mmmm?"

"Well?"

He blinked slowly, like an adoring cat. "Well, what?"

She rolled her eyes, smacking him on the thigh. "Will. You. Marry. Me?" she enunciated slowly, as if speaking to an idiot, which he kind of was right at that moment.

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Felicity. What do you think? Of course I'll marry you. I told you I'd marry you the second you asked me, didn't I?"

"You can't marry me the second I asked. First, we're stuck in this cove until the tide goes out again. Second...do you see a priest around here? Anyway, I'm sure there's SOME paperwork involved. We're probably going to need..."

Oliver cut her off mid ramble. "Passports, officially translated and notarized birth certificates, residence permit, and a certificate of no impediment, also translated into Greek and notarized."

Felicity snapped her mouth shut and stared at him for a beat. "Wow, you really looked into this didn't you?"

"I wanted to be ready."

"That's hardly what I would call ready. This is Greece we're talking about. It's going to take some time to collect..." Her voice petered out as she eyed him suspiciously. "You already did it, didn't you? You've got all the paperwork lined up."

He grinned, a combination of sheepish and proud. "Yup. I wanted to be ready as soon as you were. The only thing I couldn't do was the notice in the papers. Those have to be posted eight days before the license is issued, and have to be published in the newspaper where the wedding will be taking place. Since I didn't know where or when that was going to be, I couldn't do it ahead of time."

She frowned. "We have to get married here. Maria would kill us if we did it anywhere else."

"We have to have the religious ceremony here. I'm pretty sure that's all Maria cares about. We can have the civil marriage anywhere, say in Athens in eight or nine days?"

"Athens?" Felicity wrinkled her nose. "Don't get me wrong, Athens is nice, but I was thinking of something a little less big-city."

"Santorini?"

"Yes!" she clapped excitedly. "That's more like it."

Oliver shifted his hip in the sand and dug out his cellphone. He tapped and swiped on the screen a few times until the phone chimed. "Done."

"Done? What's done? What did you just do?"

"I submitted our notices to the town hall legal department. Santorini doesn't have a local paper."

Felicity just stared at him, wondering why she wasn't freaking out more. Yes, she had asked him to marry her, and yes, she meant it, and also yes, she really wanted to marry him, but she had expected to feel some trepidation along the way. Then again, Oliver wasn't exactly giving her much time to build up toward a freakout.

"Um...OK. Now what?"

"Now?" He reached for the front of her t-shirt and grabbed a fistful of material, pulling her on top of him as he lay back in the sand. "Now we make out until it's time to go back," he said against her mouth, his hands roaming over the tiny denim shorts covering her ass and up her back.

"No." She squirmed, trying to get off him. "I meant now what, wedding-wise."

Hands full of struggling Felicity, Oliver rolled them over, trapping her beneath him. He threaded his fingers through her hair to anchor her head, and started kissing her in earnest.

"Mmmff!" she mumbled into his mouth, trying to push him off.

He stopped kissing her and sighed at the distraction. "Now we go back to the taverna and pretend nothing has happened. Then we go home and make plans and pack. Then we go to Santorini for a few weeks, for a brief civil ceremony and a short honeymoon. When we get back, we confess to Maria - there will be some grovelling involved, I'm sure - and let her plan our wedding ceremony."

He stood, dusting sand off the seat of his pants and holding out a hand to her, helping her to her feet.

She let him pull her upright. "We're still trapped here by the tide, you know."

Oliver answer was to sweep her into his arms. "I'll carry you across."

"But what about our stuff?" She indicated the remnants of their picnic with a sweep of her hand.

"I'll come back for it later." He waded thigh deep into the shifting waters, carrying his precious cargo to the other side, setting her down for the short walk up the beach to the taverna.

>>>\------------>

Felicity found herself enjoying the secrecy and the preparations for their elopement far more than she had expected. She could barely believe she was eloping. With Oliver. The love of her life.

What she enjoyed most about the whole thing, though, was Oliver himself. He was incredibly into the whole idea, and it was adorable. Having already dealt with the legal aspects of getting married in Greece, he was now on his phone, making arrangements for their stay in Santorini in very passable Greek.

Pulling her feet up under her, she got comfortable in the armchair and watched him renting them a clifftop villa, marveling yet again at how much he had changed. Tanned, blond and carefree, smiling more often than not, he was a larger than life, technicolor version of his former tortured vigilante self.

Though he still labored in olive groves, vineyards and on boats when their friends needed help, Oliver had all but taken over as the taverna cook from Maria. Oliver Queen, it turned out, was a natural talent in the kitchen. He had started out assisting her with the grunt work of chopping and peeling, but soon graduated to student of the culinary arts when Maria noticed his abilities and set out to teach him how to make their most popular dishes. Though she still came in most days and often did the shopping for them, she more often than not let him take the lead when it came to cooking, while she sat there supervising, drinking coffee and threatening him with her spoon.

He absolutely loved it, and so did Felicity. She no longer had to lift a finger in the kitchen at home - well, except for making Greek coffee. Oliver had declared hers the best on the island.

"Are you packed yet? The ferry leaves at 8:00 AM tomorrow."

Refocusing her dreamy eyes, she found Oliver ending his call and looking at her expectantly. "Yes. All packed. Ready as I'll ever be."

She meant for more than just the trip, and by the look in his eyes and the gentle smile on his lips, she could tell that Oliver understood.

>>>\------------>

The deed, when it was finally done, was almost anticlimactic, which actually suited Felicity just fine. They were married in a short, no-fuss civil ceremony, a few days after they arrived on the island. Felicity wore a pretty floral sundress with matching heels, and Oliver a lightweight suit, his shirt un-tucked and open at the collar. They did not exchange rings - those would be kept for the actual wedding ceremony. Until then, they did not want to advertise the fact that they were married, though they would absolutely confess to Maria as soon as they got back.

Now, they stood on the steps of the town hall in the late morning sun, looking at each other with slightly incredulous expressions on their faces.

"So," Felicity said.

"Yes," Oliver replied.

They stared at each other some more, and then burst out laughing at the same time, diffusing some of the tension that had built up since they'd been declared legally wed.

"The serial model-dating, billionaire playboy and the commitment-phobe IT geek with abandonment issues are married," Felicity snorted. "To each other."

"Yes," Oliver repeated, his voice shaky with mirth. "Who'd have thought?"

"It seems a little surreal." Felicity took his hand and started down the steps. "It's like nothing has changed, and yet everything has changed."

"Wait." Oliver pulled her back, his face serious again. "I haven't kissed the bride yet. Not since I married her, anyway."

Drawing her slowly to him, he cupped her face and kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing passion. When he drew back, his eyes were suspiciously shiny. "Thank you," he whispered, closing them and pressing his forehead against hers. "Thank god for you."

Felicity, choked up, said nothing. She understood what he was saying. She echoed his statement with her eyes as he looked at her again, his thumbs gently tracing her cheekbones.

Her stomach rumbled audibly, breaking the delicious tension.

Oliver grinned. "Lunch?"

"Yes, please." She returned his grin with a wider one. "I could eat a horse."

>>>\------------>

Their days on Santorini weren't much different than their days on their island. They lounged around their rented villa, engrossed in each other, visited the less frequented parts of the island, discovered secret places only the locals new about, ate some meals out, and some meals in. It was business as usual in a way, except it wasn't.

Felicity had not expected to feel so...different. It was just a piece of paper - they had picked up their marriage certificate the next day - yet it seemed to have changed her in some very fundamental ways. She felt safer, more secure, protected. They felt more like a team to her, which was strange, as they had been a team long before they had even gotten together.

Only once was she plagued by fear and doubt. She let her overly active brain imagine losing him, and the terror she felt at the prospect of a life without him was so much worse now that they were married, which was kind of strange. Then she remembered what he had said, how he'd pointed out that marriage didn't protect one from loss any more than being single did, and managed to banish her fears to one of the corners of her brain she could ignore.

All too soon, it was time to head home and face the music. They had been a little nervous about telling Maria, but it turned out it was for no reason.

She was absolutely ecstatic, and incredibly relieved. "As long as you also get married in a church like civilized people, and you let me plan the festivities, I don't care that you are already married in the eyes of the law." She hugged them both fiercely, pinching Oliver's cheek for good measure.

"I need you to pick a date by the end of the week. I need about three months to plan properly, and you'll need to give your friends time to get out here. I should warn you, most of the island will come. Now where is my wedding book?" she continued absently, pulling her glasses down from the top of her head. "We'll have it in the church on the hill...I'll have to talk to Father Antonis..." She muttered away to herself, thumbing through her book until she found a blank page.

Smiling at each other, Felicity and Oliver quietly backed out of the kitchen and left the taverna unnoticed, knowing their wedding preparations were in the best possible hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great. Now I have written myself into a corner, and will probably have to write a big fat Greek wedding at some point (I didn't see that movie, so it won't be an influence).


	19. Parenting and PTSD - A Futuretake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thanks to Mariestark17. I explain why in the end notes.

"Daaaaad!"

The front door slammed, and small feet in hiking boots clomped down the hall.

"In the kitchen!" Oliver called out, closing the oven door with his elbow and putting the moussaka on the stove top to cool a little. He pulled the oven mitts off and watched his son walk into the kitchen.

The ten-year-old stopped at the counter, and dipped his finger into the taramasalata. "I found the source of the mysterious odor." 

"Hey. Fingers." Oliver plucked a slice of cucumber out of the salad and handed it to his son. "Use this. Now what's this about the smell?"

His kid dragged the cucumber piece through the creamy dip and crunched down. "Mmmm," he hummed around a mouthful, closing his eyes in youthful ecstasy. "Fish paste."

Oliver's lips twitched. "Tommy. The smell."

Tommy opened his eyes, and pushed his glasses up his nose in a gesture so reminiscent of his mother that Oliver almost melted. 

"Oh. Yes. It's Olivia, Dad. She found a gigantic dead turtle and dragged it out by that big ant hill behind the house. She wants the shell, and she thinks the ants will pick it clean." Unlike his sister, he thought the whole thing absolutely disgusting. Serious, responsible, and older than his ten years, Tommy had time only for his computers and his books.

"Where is your sister, anyway? Mom will be home any minute, and lunch is about ready."

"I don't know." Tommy carefully selected another slice of cucumber, unaware of the effect his words were about to have on his father. "Maybe she's in her room?"

Oliver, in the middle of taking plates out of the cabinet, looked at his son sharply.

"What do you mean? She didn't come back with you? Where...hey. Tommy." He put the plates down and turned his son toward him. "Look at me. Where did you leave her?"

"We were out by the ant hill." Tommy appeared to grow aware that he might be in trouble. "She was checking on her turtle. I was sitting on a rock, reading, and when I looked up, she was gone."

The bottom fell out of Oliver's stomach, and his heart started racing. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the counter as darkness encroached on his vision, and fought the churning panic before it completely took over. 

"Dad?"

The small, uncertain voice of his son provided grounding, and brought him back to reality.

He steadied his voice. "It's OK, son. Go on and set the table. I'll go find her."

Oliver strode out of the house and down the path into the rocks behind the house, fighting against the flicker of fear in his belly that threatened to overwhelm him. He broke into a jog, calling out to his daughter as he made his way to the ant hill.

There was no sight nor sound of Olivia when he got to the pile of decomposing flesh that was his youngest's latest experiment.

"Olivia!" he yelled, spinning around, frantically searching for her. "Olivia!"

With a muffled curse, he was about to head further away from the house, into the wilderness, when he heard the sounds of footsteps on loose rock. A little tow-headed girl appeared, limping and cradling something of vital importance in her cupped hands.

"Hi Daddy!" She didn't look up from her hands, completely unaware that her father was coming apart at the seams. "Look what I found! It's a turtle egg!" 

She was absolute mess, as usual. Her pony tail was askew, tendrils of hair standing up crazily around her face, the bloody scrapes on her knees joining the bruises on her shins, some of them fresh, others fading.

He was in front of her before she could even look up at him, lifting her onto a boulder so he could check her for injuries.

"She was just laying them, and I took one for my collection!" Olivia prattled on, oblivious to her father gently prodding her injured knees, or the storm brewing inside him. "There were tons, so I think she won't mind."

Oliver, having made sure his daughter was intact, went from fear to anger in a heartbeat, and fought the instinct to haul her off the rock to land a series of stinging slaps to her backside. Instead, he gritted his teeth, and lifted her into his arms for the journey home.

"You were supposed to stay with your brother."

Olivia was still inspecting her egg, handling it with unusual care for someone her age. "Actually, he was supposed to stay with me. I told him where I was going, he was supposed to follow me." She squirmed in his arms. "Daddy, I can walk."

"Be still. You're limping, so I'm carrying you home." 

Apparently, his tone was a little more curt than he had intended, because Olivia looked up at him. "Are you mad, Daddy?"

He took a deep breath. "A little bit, sweetheart. But only because I was scared."

He felt a small, warm hand on his cheek and looked down at his daughter. She stared back at him with a serious, knowing look. "I'm okay. Just a few scratches and bruises. I'm a kid, that's totally normal."

"You're too smart for your own good, Livvie," he muttered. 

"Too smart for _your_ own good, you mean," she quipped.

He stopped, and looked down at her with mock severity. "Are you sassing me, kid?"

She grinned cheekily up at him. "Yup."

Oliver started walking again, feeling considerably lighter now that his daughter was safe in his arms once more, and clearly her usual irreverent self. 

***

"Boots." Oliver spoke on autopilot, when he put Olivia down in the entryway and she made a bee line for the kitchen in her dirty footwear. The six-year-old stopped, toed off her hiking boots, and kept walking.

"Back were they belong."

She came to an exaggerated stop, did a silly walk backwards to her boots and picked them up to put them in the closet.

"I'm going to get the first-aid kit." He pointed down the hall. "Wait for me in the kitchen."

She turned, and he was sure he saw an eye-roll. "Daddy, I'm f..."

"Olivia." His tone shut down all argument.

She closed her mouth and headed into the kitchen without another word.

***

Oliver braced himself against the bathroom counter, and took several deep, calming breaths, looking at himself in the mirror.

"You are never going to survive this," He told his reflection, taking in the crow's feet around his eyes, and the salt and pepper in his hair. She's going to kill you. They are _both_ going to kill you."

"Who's going to kill you?"

He looked up to see his wife watching him from the doorway. 

"Olivia. Tommy. Olivia went missing again."

"Oliver." Felicity inserted herself between him and the sink and took a hold of his face. "I talked to Tommy while you were out looking for Olivia. She didn't go missing. She was out playing, and you couldn't find her for a few minutes."

He wrapped his arms around her, pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. They stood silently for a moment, listening to the kids arguing in fluent Greek in the kitchen.

"When I found out Tommy had come back alone..." Oliver's voice shook slightly. "When I realized there was no one who knew where Olivia was, I started blacking out." 

Felicity pulled back to look at him, eyes full of compassion, but kept her hands on his face. "Oliver, don't you think it is about time you talked to someone about this?"

He pulled his face free and bent to get the first aid kit out of the cabinet, and to avoid her searching eyes. "Talk to someone about what?"

She waited until he was standing again, and stayed silent until he looked at her. "I'm no expert, but I think you might have a mild case of PTSD."

Oliver snorted. "I've had PTSD. This is nothing like..." He stopped. Some of the things he had experienced were similar to how he'd been after he got back from the island. Not nearly as bad, but he couldn't deny that there were similarities. 

Felicity looked at him with nothing but empathy and understanding. 

"Our daughter went missing for 24 hours a few months ago. After everything I went through on the island, how could that possibly trigger PTSD?" he argued.

"You don't have to go through something like that to have PTSD. A frightening event is all it takes. And you do have some of the symptoms. I know you're having trouble sleeping at times, and that you have bad dreams, and I'm willing to bet anything that you're having flashbacks and hiding it from me. I also know you're terrified of it happening again, and you feel guilty for it happening in the first place."

She smiled. "Oliver. You are a born protector, and you need to be in control of everything around you. Add children into the mix, especially your own, and you're a ticking time bomb. It's impossible to be in control of everything when it comes to children. Especially when it comes to Olivia. I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did."

Oliver considered his wife's words, and wondered as well how he hadn't gone absolutely insane years ago. When he had held his son for the first time, a quiet, serious baby looking up at him with a steady blue-eyed gaze, he'd been terrified. When he held his daughter, red-faced and squalling angrily, tiny fists flailing, he'd nearly had a panic attack.

"I do worry about Olivia a lot more than Tommy."

"So do I. Tommy is a responsible kid who thinks before he acts. I mean, the kid is 10 going on 30. Olivia, on the other hand..." Felicity smiled fondly. "She's the spitting image of you in so many ways."

Oliver looked pained. "Not helping, honey."

"She's reckless and impulsive..."

"And scary smart. Like you."

"...and scary smart. Add to that her love of nature and biology, and you're going to have to expect her to fall out of a few trees or into ponds or something."

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut at her words, and a tremor coursed through him. Felicity pulled the first aid kit out of his hands, set it on the counter, and pressed her body up against his, wrapping her arms around him. He opened his eyes at the contact, and she had never seen him look so wild.

She knew him so well, he didn't need to say anything for her to pretty accurately guess that he was wishing he could somehow lock his daughter up until she had learned some sense, or even better...

"No, Oliver. We are not hiring a bodyguard to watch our daughter for every second she is out of our sight."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "How did you..."

She gave him a look. "Seriously? I know you inside and out by now. I can read you like an open book."

"Twenty-four hours, Felicity. She was missing for twenty-four hours."

"And we found her. _You_ found her, Oliver, just like you said you would. And half the island turned out to help. And she was _fine_..."

"She wasn't fine."

"...she had some scratches and bruises, a badly sprained ankle, and she was suffering from mild dehydration. She was fine."

Oliver rubbed his hands down his face and dropped his head, eyes squeezed shut, fingers lacing behind his head. "She could have broken her neck!"

"But she didn't!" She pulled his arms away and pushed his chin up, forcing him to look at her. "Oliver. She didn't. You have to stop doing this to yourself. You'll go crazy if you keep this up."

He smiled tentatively and slipped his arms around her, the tension slowly melting out of him. "What would I do without you?" Then, getting serious, "Where would I be? Who would I be?"

"I'm not sure I want to think about that," she laughed. Then she too got serious again. "Listen, Oliver, I don't think it's fair to put Tommy in charge of watching his sister. That's too big a responsibility for a ten-year-old. I don't want that kind of pressure on him."

He sighed. "I know. I realized that today, when I saw the look on his face. He thought he was in trouble. I'll tell him over lunch."

Felicity smiled in relief. "Good." She kissed him softly. "Now..." she whispered against his lips. "How about a quick fuck before we go back out there?"

Her words went straight to his groin and he moaned. "God I love it when you talk dirty," he rasped, his arms tightening around her. "But what about the kids?"

Felicity pulled away from him and closed the bathroom door. "The kids are why it's going to have to be quick."

Oliver went into action immediately, hauling Felicity back to him and lifting her onto the counter, his hand scrabbling at the hem of her dress.

"Wait!" she hissed, pushing his hand away. "I want to watch us." She hopped off the counter and turned, reaching for the back of her skirt.

Now it was Oliver's turn to stop her, locking eyes with her reflection, his voice low and deep. "Hey. That's my job."

With a suggestive smile, Felicity bent forward, bracing her arms on the counter, and thrust her ass out in invitation. Oliver wasted no time pushing the material up to her waist. 

A loud knock sounded on the door, and they leaped apart like teenagers caught in the act.

"Mom? Dad?" It was their daughter, talking to them through the door. "Are you coming out soon? My knee hurts and I'm hungry!"

"We're coming!" Felicity called out, arranging the folds of her dress.

"No we're not," Oliver muttered. "We never even got the chance to try."

Felicity snorted, opening the door. "We were looking for this." She held up the first aid kit.

Olivia crossed her arms, eyeing her mother suspiciously. "With the door closed?" 

"We were doing secret grown-up stuff." Oliver said as he came out behind his wife. "To the kitchen, kid. Let's take a look at that knee, and have lunch."

"You were kissing, weren't you?" She looked up at him shrewdly, falling in beside him.

He smiled down at her, tugging her pony tail. "Something like that, yes."

"Gross." Olivia wrinkled her nose in distaste and gave an exaggerated shudder.

Oliver seized the moment. "Yes. Totally gross. Never forget that."

Felicity stifled her laughter and followed them into the kitchen.

***

Back in the kitchen, Oliver lifted his daughter onto the counter. 

"Eeew..." Olivia pushed the bowl of taramasalata away from herself with one finger, like it would contaminate her. "Fish paste."

"Actually, it's fish _egg_ paste," Tommy taunted from his seat in the breakfast nook, not even looking up from his tablet.

Felicity rescued the so-called fish paste from the counter before Olivia sent it over the edge in disgust, and set it on the table near her son. 

"Tommy." She held out her hand. "The tablet."

He closed out and handed it to his mother, who placed it on the counter. Electronics where not allowed at the table during mealtimes.

"Alright, let's do this." Oliver opened the kit, removing cotton swabs and disinfectant. There was a brief battle and a loud shriek as Olivia tried and failed to stop him from cleaning her scraped knees with the "stingy stuff" - they were out of the child-friendly version - followed by a few seconds of angry tears and sulking. But she was soon distracted by the prospect of her father's moussaka, her absolute favorite. 

Oliver dished out the moussaka, and Olivia carefully carried each plate to the table, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips. He brought the last plate himself, holding it out so Felicity could add some of the salad. 

"Ok, guys, quick family meeting." He set the plate down in front of his son, and slid in next to him. "Tommy, you're no longer your sister's keeper. I should never have put you in charge of her. I want you both to look out for each other, but you're not responsible for each other. That's my job."

"And mine," Felicity chimed in.

"And your mother's," Oliver amended. "And you," he continued sternly, pointing at his daughter. "You are not to wander off on your own again. If you want to go somewhere, you need to tell one of us where you are going."

"I told Tommy." Olivia crammed a huge fork-full of moussaka in her mouth. "He didn't hear me."

"You need to tell your mom or me, Liv," he clarified. "That's not negotiable. Understood?"

"I might not be able to do that, Daddy," she said, clearly not understanding - or choosing not to understand - the seriousness of what he was saying. "I would have lost the turtle if I'd had to come back and tell you first."

Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He opened his mouth to speak, but Felicity had already stepped in. She gently took the fork out of her daughter's hand. "Olivia. Look at me." She waited until she had her full attention. "Forget the turtle. The island is full of turtles, it won't be the last one you see. You either tell us where you're going, or you don't go out on your own anymore. Is that clear?"

Olivia wanted to argue, but she was a smart girl, and she knew when the battle was lost. "It's clear, Mom. I won't go anywhere without telling you."

"That's my good girl." Felicity gave her her fork back, catching Oliver's eyes. He shot her a grateful look. _I love you_ , he mouthed. 

She gave him a gentle smile, and slow-blinked her love right back at him.

***

"How does that even happen?" Felicity whispered, looking at their sleeping daughter in awe.

They were standing in the doorway of her bedroom, having checked on Tommy first, before heading off to bed themselves. Tommy had been curled up under his sheets in a neatly made bed and tidy, spartan room. Books were arranged in tidy rows, alphabetically by genre, and his clothes were folded neatly on a chair. Only his desk, covered in computer guts and sundry tools, was a mess. 

Olivia on the other hand...her room looked like she had brought half the island in with her. Anything that happened to look interesting was collected and brought back to her lair. Rocks, insect casings, and the molted skins of snakes were randomly arranged on shelves and table tops with no apparent sense of order. A rickety desk held a microscope, inexplicably lying on its side, and a glass-topped box which housed her collection of eggs. Animal bones and clothes were strewn around the room. 

The child herself was sprawled on her stomach across the whole bed, visible in the soft glow of her aquarium. Her pajama top was bunched under her armpits and her pajama pants were hanging off one ankle. No matter what she wore when she went to sleep, she somehow almost always managed to kick off her clothes during the night, ending up naked.

"I used to do that all the time, apparently," Oliver laughed quietly.

Felicity leaned against him. "Was your room also such a mess?"

"No." He put his arm around her and kissed her temple. "Billionaire mansion, remember? We had staff to clean up after us."

With one last look at their offspring, Felicity quietly closed the door, and they continued down the hall to their bedroom. 

***

Oliver was writing in his journal when Felicity came out of the bathroom, naked, and slipped into bed beside him. She stretched out on her back, and closed her eyes with a deep, exhausted sigh.

He marked his page with the pen, and set the journal on the night table, turning off the light. 

"Hey," he murmured at the dark ceiling. "The kids are asleep. Wanna finish what we started before lunch?"

"Absolutely," she responded sleepily. "We have to seize our chance when we can, right?"

His voice, when he replied, was rough with sleep. "Right."

Neither of them made a move, and they fell asleep within seconds of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This outtake exists because of a comment Mariestark17 made to the wedding chapter. She asked "any kids for Olicity?" and I was about to say "I doubt it," because I don't much care for kids in fic, but then I had a flash of a quiet little blond boy with glasses and his nose in a book, and a noisy little girl with dirty knees brandishing a toy bow and arrow and ordering the other kids in the playground around, and in that instant, the idea for the outtake was born.
> 
> The rest, as they say, is history.


End file.
